


Velaris

by Rhysand_vs_Rowan



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Gen, Velaris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:11:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysand_vs_Rowan/pseuds/Rhysand_vs_Rowan
Summary: "Protect Velaris. Protect each other. I love you all." With Rhys' final words, the shields around Velaris rise, trapping the Inner Circle inside for fifty years. This series follows Mor, Cassian, Azriel, and Amren as they struggle to adapt and fulfill Rhys' final request.





	1. Chapter 1

##  **Part 1**

_Protect Velaris. Protect each other. I love you all. I’m sorry. I’m so sor-_

And just like that, Rhysand was gone.

Cassian and Azriel were on the roof when Rhys’ voice filled their minds. They  _felt_  his shield rising over Velaris, and a sudden invisible binding of their very beings to it.

“No!” Cassian roared as the shield slipped into place. He launched himself into the air, desperate to outpace its rise. Azriel shouted something at him, but red filled his vision, rage screamed in his ears, and his very  _blood_  boiled in his veins. He felt Rhys’ spell around his throat and he flew harder and faster, tightening the noose.

The shield sealed above and still Cassian flew hard and fast up, up, up. He was roaring with a primal, feral rage that ripped the air from his lungs. That scream made his enemies on the battlefield piss themselves and run, it taught even the most puffed-up Illyrian general fear. 

His rage was something not wholly of this world.

And yet it still wasn’t enough to stop what was happening.

Magic- the will of the High Lord- was making it harder and harder to draw breath as Cassian’s wings flapped. He wasn’t gaining altitude like he should- as if some invisible string were wrapped around his wings too. Someone below was shouting at him. White spots danced in his eyes as he struggled against the tether and that noose tightened further around his throat. He blasted out with all the power contained in his syphons- but something caught it and dissipated the power into the air around him.

Tighter and tighter that noose wound, harder and harder Cassian struggled against it. He could  _feel_  those monsters flooding the court-  _his_  court. He heard the battle-call of the Illyrian legions as they rose up against whatever horror Amarantha had sent-

-until he felt Rhysand vanish.

It was as if something had been ripped out of Cassian. The chamber in his mind kept open for his High Lord and brother went icy cold and still. The shield clicked into place once and for all and- and even though everything Illyrian in his blood still roared, the link to his Camp Lord- to Rhysand- was simply  _gone_

Silent.

Still.

Lost.

Cassian didn’t fight the noose around his neck. He stopped flapping his wings and a wall of air slammed into him as the shield extended down, forcing him back to Velaris. Gravity sent him hurtling from the sky until something black flashed around him, he was winnowed, and Cassian slammed into the cold stone of the townhouse  _hard_.

Azriel pulled him to his feet as he gasped and choked.

Tears-  _actual tears_ \- were on Azriel’s cheeks as he looked up at the shield that buried them all alive. He threw his shadows out and found it had pushed down to only twenty feet above the townhouse. Room enough to fly, but not much more than that. Not nearly the room required to build up enough momentum to try and punch through to the outside world.

Mor’s screams ripped through the entirely of the townhouse and threw  _both_  males into action. 

Cassian scrambled for the rooftop doors even as he continued to choke and cough. Azriel simply jumped off the roof and let his wings somewhat soften the force of his landing. He ripped the garden door entirely off its hinges in his haste to get inside.

Amren was on the ground, kneeling and holding Mor tight as she thrashed and screamed. Black smoke was exploding from the blonde fae, but either from Rhys’ shield or Amren’s own magic, she could not winnow to her cousin’s side. Azriel’s shadows fed on that darkness, reading and assessing and coming back silent. His world- a world that should encompass the entirety of the Night Court, had vanished in a blink. 

He could winnow within the shields- he’d done as much to get Cassian back in his free fall- but that was as far as his reach could stretch.

Cassian crashed down the stairs and stopped by his side. He stared at Mor, lost in the same hysteria that had gripped him, at Amren looking fit to slaughter the continent- but still cool and in control, at Azriel, tears still on his face as he realized they were well and truly trapped.

Before it was over- before that damnable shield shattered- Cassian would know what must have shown in his own eyes in that moment.

Wrath.

* * *

##  **Four Years Later**

Cassian’s world twisted and bent. Alleys turned into tunnels, tunnels turned into sprawling valleys, and those valleys in turn became rivers of light and noise.

He avoided the rivers. Something about them whispered to Cassian of rage, pain, and shame. Something in him hated them, and hated how much needed them. 

He stumbled away from the cacophony of life and light, and vanished into the darkness.

* * *

Mor barely listened to the reports given by Velaris’ palace governors. That counsel of males and females was far more used to running itself than having even Rhys sit in, but they humored his third in command. 

Especially now.

Every minute of every day was agony for Mor- for all of the Inner Circle. Her entire being was screaming that her cousin and friend was in danger. That was a whisper compared to the deafening roar of a subject raging to protect her High Lord. Her skin burned, her hands ached for the hilt of an Illyrian sword, and she had to clench her teeth together to keep from screaming with it all.

“Lady Morrigan?” One of the governors touched her hand lightly.

Mor jumped but swallowed her snarl. She took in the faces of the males and females around her- concern practically rippled off of them.

“My apologies,” she said quickly. She provided no excuses and they expected none from her.

“The High Lord sealed Velaris along with a small portion of the neighboring farmland. Most of our fishing grounds are likewise situated outside of the shield.” Einion, the male who governed the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, repeated himself for her benefit. “We estimate that what we have access to- along with careful breeding of our existing livestock population, will suffice to feed Velaris’ current population with only limited rationing. However… in the short term we can account for natural expansions to the population, but in the long term-“

“You want to put population control measures in place?” Abra said. The governess of the Palace of Thread and Jewels was a quiet, small woman who chose to keep her hair concealed beneath an intricately beaded headscarf. Her designs were always among Mor’s favorites and outside of the Inner Circle, Abra was perhaps her closest friend in Velaris.

Einion sighed, “I don’t  _want_  to, but I thought it would be better to start this discussion now. We’ve lost a sizable chunk of our farmlands, we can support a population increase of perhaps four hundred Fae before rationing will have to be implemented. Our breeding programs with the livestock are showing promise, but we have the issue of what to  _feed_  those additional livestock.”

“Four hundred Fae?” Mor frowned, “I know Velaris has a large population, but how long before we reach that threshold?”

“At the current rate of births, about twenty years. Now- Lady Morrigan, we all hope the High Lord defeats Amarantha  _well_  before then, but-“

“-no.” Mor’s heart was pounding in her chest. She sat back and took a long drink from the water in front of her, “No, you’re right. We can’t assume the shield will lift… I would have bet my life it wasn’t going to last a  _week_ , let alone…” her head felt too light, the air too thick. Mor pushed away from the table and stood, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well.” Abra reached out for her friend’s hand, but Mor brushed her off and swept quickly from the meeting chamber.

She couldn’t get enough air- even outside on the streets. The people of Velaris looked to her, but whatever they saw in her eyes made them think twice about speaking. She rushed away from the Palace of Bone and Salt, away from the governors meeting inside, and away from the horrors they were discussing.

Not the population control- the most that would amount to would be asking Fae to limit reproduction. Wholly voluntary, nothing more. The people of Velaris would agree with minimal grumbling to limit reproduction rather than face starvation. 

No- it was the reality that the shield could last far,  _far_  longer. 

That this could be just the beginning.

The shield- it was impenetrable. Could air even get through? Mor felt dizzy. The ground tilted beneath her feet as her heart continued to race. She had to get away, off the street. Concern was beginning to light the eyes of those around her. She was their leader in Rhys’ stead, she couldn’t fall apart, couldn’t break, not here, not where they could see.

Strong hands clamped around her shoulders and Mor stifled a shout. Panic was making it hard for her eyes to focus, but whoever held her dragged her into an alley between two shops- somewhere cold, dark, and deserted. 

Rough, calloused hand clamped down on either side of her face and two large, black eyes met her own. 

Stared her down.

Mor gripped Azriel’s forearms, holding herself up as her gasps turned to sobs. He just stared at her, giving her a face- a friendly face- to center herself around. His shadows wrapped around them tight, and for good measure he stretched his wings to fill the alley and block her from sight at either end.

“Breathe.” His voice was soft, gentle. Few even in the Inner Circle had ever heard him speak with such soothing grace, “Take a deep breath- deeper. Hold it. Now blow it out slowly. Again…  _Again_.”

After the shields went up, after Rhys- things changed in the Inner Circle. 

They’d all felt that noose around their necks, the tether that held them to the shields. Only if all of them broke it together would the shield fall and that spell be undone. Rhys was trusting them to keep one another sane… 

But all it would have taken was a word. All it would have taken was a whisper of a plan and every last one of them would have broken free. Even Amren, in her way, showed disapproval at being caged.

But they had their charge- Rhys’ last words. They checked in on one another almost every day, but over four years things had grown strained. The Inner Circle loved one another desperately, four years could not undo more than five hundred... It was simply that they also knew how dangerous they were together.

How quickly, how  _easily_  they could be convinced to rip apart that shield and probably die in the hell Amarantha unleashed. 

Would she make Rhys watch as she ripped the wings off of the Illyrians? As she carved Mor’s scalp away? Amren alone would survive, but did it truly count as survival if all of those she called friends died?

So they allowed distance to grow between them, to save Velaris from their desperation and rage. Fae were immortal, but that didn’t change the passage of time. A year was not shorter just because you could see a thousand of them. A day could still be an eternity, especially when your family was too scared of what they might do given half a chance.

Azriel had kept a watchful eye on the others as he tried to wrestle that beast inside him that  _still_  wanted nothing more than to rip the shield apart. Cassian made a point to visit even Amren but he never,  _never_  said Rhys’ name. Mor met the others for food or drinks, but never more than two members of the Inner Circle at once.

Amren- even she had a way of showing up at everyone’s doors, giving them a once over with those unnerving silver eyes, and leaving without saying anything but “You need to eat more”. 

Even as the months rolled by and more time passed between visits, Amren still had a way of knowing when someone was needed.

That morning she’d paid Azriel a visit, deemed his appearance good enough, and simply said, “Mor needs you.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice.

He’d only just reached the meeting hall when he saw Mor run from it, too pale with her heart racing too fast. Amren wasn’t wrong, Azriel just wished  _he’d_  noticed how bad her rage and grief had become in the weeks since he’d last met with her. 

He was so consumed with his own anger he did not let himself truly  _see_  the others. 

He held Mor as the panic attack began to subside. Her sobs turned to whimpers. The whimpers turned to shuddering breaths. His heart ached for the tears she shed, but he didn’t let emotion cloud his eyes. He wrapped a cord around the throat of his guilt and yanked it down.

Azriel forced the storm inside him back, locked it away behind a wall of steel and shadow where he kept his rage, pain, and love. It was getting hard to close the vault door, but he couldn’t feel any of it. Not while the others needed him. Not while Rhysand needed him to keep them safe. 

It didn’t matter how hot the fire inside him burned, he had his orders. Orders he’d failed up to now:

_Protect Velaris. Protect each other._

Mor sunk to her knees and Azriel went with her. He knelt on the cobblestones and released her face. She clutched his forearms tighter, unwilling to let go. His blood immediately warmed, but he simply took whatever feelings were blooming and shoved them into that dark vault with the rest.

He let her hold him while the panic pulled its claws from her heart. When Mor’s tears at last stopped falling, she was pale and exhausted.

“Come on, let’s get off the street.” Azriel pulled her to her feet. He let the shadows bleed away from them and folded his wings closed. Cool air and sunlight filled the space between them.

“No-“ Mor didn’t move when Azriel pulled her out of the alley in the direction of the townhouse, “please, not there.” Not where she would be surrounded by the scent and memory of her cousin. A cousin she may never see alive again. Mor had been the first to leave the townhouse for an apartment in the city. She couldn’t stomach the place as long as her grief was so near.

Azriel just nodded and took Mor in a different direction. He released her hand before they entered the crowds again, and part of her bled at the loss of contact. Cassian would have held her hand through the entire city, gossips be damned. He would have walked with an arm around her shoulder if that was what she needed. 

With Azriel though…

With Cassian it was simple. They’d been to bed together, true, but that awkwardness was long gone. She loved him like a brother. He was easy, Azriel was the opposite. Mor didn’t want to hurt him, but… nothing could be innocent where Azriel was concerned. He tried not to burden her with his love as best he could, but she knew it was still just beneath the surface. If she took his hand or asked him to put an arm around her shoulder as they walked, it would just fan the flames.

 _If I told him now, right now, it might be better._  She thought as she followed him through the winding streets of Velaris towards the ocean front.  _If he ran from me and vanished I could track him down a hell of a lot easier. He doesn’t have the entirety of Prythian- of the_ world _\- to hide from me. I could tell him, apologize a million times for keeping the secret, and maybe by the time Rhysand comes back they’ll all have forgiven me…_

 _Or I could make everything worse… He lost Rhys, just like me. He’s trapped here while the outside world burns, just like me._ She studied Azriel- his pale skin, the way it hung on his frame, the wrinkle of his black shirt, and the scuffing on his dark boots. On Cassian it would be normal. On Azriel…  _He’s fairing as badly as I am. If I told him…_

Mor was looking for excuses to keep her secret a  _secret_. She knew it, but she wasn’t ready for the fighting, the anger, the look of betrayal that would burn in those dark eyes she knew so well.

 _After Rhys gets back,_  she made an oath to herself- one she knew she would probably break.  _Once Rhys is home safely, then I will tell Azriel the truth. Right now it’d be like kicking a wounded animal. When Rhys returns, it will be the perfect time. Everyone will be too happy to be angry._

Sunlight flashed into Mor’s eyes and she stopped, blinking. While she ran from her own truth, Azriel had taken them to the darkest corner of Velaris.

“What is this place?”

Mor was staring up at a crooked old building that seemed to be reclining against one of the harbor walls. The wood was sun-bleached and heavily weathered, in a perpetual state of damp rot, and even the glass in the windows was too caked in grime and mold to see through.

There were poor in Velaris, same as any city, but as Mor looked around she realized even those few ragged Fae in the immediate vicinity were keeping  _far_  from the building. When Azriel walked up to the door, one made a sign against evil and skittered down an alley to disappear.

“My home.” Azriel said simply. He grabbed the rusty iron handle, lifted it, turned, and jammed his shoulder against the heavily warped wood. It opened inward with the scream of unoiled hinges. 

He turned to Mor, expectant.

She followed slowly, suspiciously, “You don’t live here.”

“Yes, I do.” He jerked his head to the open door and she moved just a little quicker, “Cass and I lived in the House of Wind.” He pointed to the palace on the far side of Velaris, nestled like a crown on the mountains.

Well above the shield Rhys had created.

Pity wrenched Mor’s heart, “Azriel, I thought you and Cass were living in the townhouse. If I’d known-“

Something darkened in even his coal eyes, “I- I can’t do that… Cassian is living there. I join him for breakfast when I can. He wants to keep it aired out for when… when  _he_  gets back.” Rage and pain lit his face in equal measure. Expertly, Azriel shoved it deep, deep down into his vault.

He didn’t tell Mor how much time had passed since he last saw Cassian.

“I couldn’t-“ Mor took a deep, steadying breath, “I couldn’t go back there. It’s- I tried. I  _tried_ , but-“ she couldn’t finish. Tears dropped down her cheeks.

“His scent.” Azriel said, “It’s everywhere.” His scarred hand took hers and he led her inside.

“I slept in there that first night, when I woke up I was  _so sure_  it was a dream. I was  _so sure_  he was home. I searched every room three times, even told the prick to stop hiding… I’m renting an apartment in the Rainbow now.” Mor said.

“I know.”

 _Protect each other_. Rhys’ orders. His spymaster had nothing to spy on anymore, not really. So, he spied on the Court. Watched them and watched Velaris... at least until the roaring in his blood had deafened him. Three weeks. It was three weeks since he’d last seen Amren before that morning. Since he’d last seen Mor or Cassian.

Time had a way of flying by and crawling simultaneously.

“When did you come here?” Mor asked.

“A few weeks after you left.”

The entryway was just as horrible as the outside. Torn, faded furniture leaned on broken legs, something was spread out across the middle of the floor that Mor honestly could not identify as either a rug or perhaps the salvaged sail from some old boat- one that had capsized in an ocean of shit by the smell of it. Grime caked absolutely everything, and from the dim luster of the wood Mor knew that if she touched something it would either be waxy or sticky. A chamberpot in the corner was very slowly leaking from a crack upon the side, and in the small fireplace on the corner something skittered through deep ash.

“You can’t live here.” Mor felt dirty even  _looking_  at it.

Azriel just closed the front door with a chuckle. He must have been more broken than she was- the spymaster without anything to watch, without his High Lord to protect. Azriel was  _always_  clean and proper. He’d lived in a dungeon far,  _far_  too long to ever keep a home like this. It was worse even than the cell he’d been raised in.

“I  _like_  it here.” The back of the shack housed a small kitchen- just as disgusting as the rest of the place. Wrinkly, black things that might have once been apples were being devoured by mold upon the table. Maggots clung to the walls above a small trash bin and long, rusty knives filled a crumbling clay pot. The bucket of water that sat beside them- theoretically his drinking water- had a fine sheen of oil and scum upon the top.

Mor followed Azriel to the back stairs, “Azriel- you can come stay with me if you need to. I know we all kind of fell apart after Rhys left- I’m sorry, I’m  _so sorry_ , but we can make it right. If you need money, I’ll happily give you  _whatever_  you need.”

At even the mention of staying with Mor-  _alone_  with Mor- his blood heated and the door of that vault shivered. He threw all of his shadows into it, reinforcing the metal, “Rhys overpays me, just like the rest of you. My stipend hasn’t stopped.”

“Then  _why_?” her voice broke, “Why do you have to-“

Azriel opened an ancient door at the top of the stairs and Mor completely forgot what she was going to say.

The second level couldn’t have been  _more_  different from the first. Here the walls were uniform and made of  _clean_  stone, the floors were polished oak dotted with thick, intricate rugs. The outside looked as though the house was bending back to the harbor wall, but where the two met was an obsidian door  _into_  the wall itself. Another staircase- this one engraved with vines of nightshade and embossed in thin strips of abalone- led up to the third floor, presumably living quarters.

Three of the walls were simply  _windows_ , reinforced to support the upper level. The spells that kept even her from even seeing the windows from the outside must have been driven into the very fabric of the building- an illusion so complete and so  _real_  it had to be the work of a High Lord.

Waist-high bookshelves filled with uniform black leather tomes lined the outside of the space. There were low couches throughout the room, but the vast majority of the second floor was taken up by a massive, incredibly detailed model of Velaris and the immediate countryside. Namely-

“Rhys based his shield around this, I think.” Azriel led Mor to the edge of the model. She saw a silver seam running through the middle of the city. As they drew closer, she noted tracks in the floor leading out from the model. Azriel gave a soft tug at the corner of the table and it split easily along the seams, letting her walk into the center.

Every building, every stall, every oceanfront hovel- it was all there, carved into wood and stone alike, depending on what the building was made from. Azriel walked around the outside, to where the townhouse sat. Like a giant toying with the city, he lifted the roof off of the building and Mor leaned over to see inside- a perfect replication of the layout.

“This place was built four High Lords ago.  _Technically_  it’s the official residence of the High Lord’s Spymaster when in Velaris. I never had a use for it before, but…” he shrugged, “The books contain reports from my time as spymaster. Everything I know about every Court, every noteworthy family, every lover, every friend, every plot, every scheme-“ he blushed a little at the incredulous look on Mor’s face and shrugged, “I’m thorough. There’s nothing on you or Cassian in this room, don’t worry. Just… others. Amren has three book cases to herself- most of it mine, some from past spymasters.”

Mor’s wonder slowly turned bitter, “Why didn’t I know about this place?”

Azriel sighed, “Because Rhys’ father  _kept_  me here. When Rhys became High Lord he let me move to the House of Wind and I didn’t look back until I had to,“ he nodded to the windows.

Mor looked at them-  _really_  looked at them. Thin metal sat between the panes of glass and something in her chest cracked. To her they were windows. To Azriel- especially so soon after being his father’s prisoner- they would have looked like the bars of a cage.

“I don’t mind anymore,” Azriel spoke before Mor could. “Maybe it’s because Rhys gave us a different kind of prison.”

It was impossible to miss the bite to his words. Azriel forced a quiet smile before Mor could comment.

“Protect Velaris. Protect each other.” Azriel walked away from the map and sat on the arm of one of the couches. Mor followed, “We haven’t done a very good job, have we?”

“No,” she agreed, “no we haven’t. It’s like Rhys is just around the corner, barely out of sight, and he’s screaming for us… And nothing I do can make that feeling go away… I’m sorry, but being around you and Cassian and Amren-“

“It makes it harder. If he were just somewhere else, just stuck in another city that would be different. But he’s not. He’s in danger, and we can’t do anything to help him. All we can do is hope he’s alright,” Azriel said. “Nuala and Cerridwen are with Rhysand, they’ll make sure he remembers he isn’t the Lord of Nightmares, not really. If Helion hasn’t goaded Amarantha into killing him yet, he’ll help remind Rhys he’s a good male. We can’t save any of them- Under the Mountain or even out there in Night, and we have no way of knowing if this will ever end… But we can help the people of Velaris. We can help each other.”

It was the most Mor had heard Azriel speak in a long time, and what burned in his eyes- he was as lost as the rest of them. He was drowning,  _she_  was drowning, and alone there was no hope.

“What do we do?” Mor sat up straighter and locked eyes with Azriel.

He considered it for a long time. He’d  _been_  considering it for a long time.

“Get Amren, I’ll find Cassian. Meet us at the café in the Rainbow by your apartment in three hours. I will arrange for a private dining room. We’ll figure it out together.” Azriel dared to give Mor a soft smile.

When she smiled back, something locked up in that vault deep inside him rumbled.

* * *

In all of Velaris, there were only  _two_  full-blooded Illyrians.

Still, after two hours, the second one remained worryingly hard to find.

Azriel started at Rhysand’s townhouse and worked his way through every room, trying to ignore the primal voice that roared for him to rip apart the world until he found his High Lord. It was mollified, somewhat, but the strictly  _Azriel_  side of him who saw Rhysand’s home for what it was-

Pristine.

Untouched.

As if Cassian had never been there at all.

Yes, Cassian’s cinnamon scent lingered throughout the house, but it was weak. Every room was cleaner than Rhys ever allowed, every inch of wood- be it furniture or floors- polished to within an inch of its life, and in the back garden, every leaf or speck of dirt was accounted for. Only the sitting room showed any sign of Cassian- in a folded blanket and the faint imprints of an old footstool shoved beneath the armchair.

Nearly six bedrooms- including Rhysand’s- and Cassian had been sleeping in a chair, leaving the rest of the house ready for its owner’s return. Even the trash bins were empty, the kitchen cupboards hardly stocked with food, and each bathroom had freshly washed towels inside.

The house was waiting for Rhysand, with as little sign of Cassian as possible.

Azriel hurried from the house and looked up and down the bustling street. At the far end, he saw his target- a 12 year-old faerie girl named Shasta. Her parents were both well respected architects in Velaris, ones Rhysand consulted whenever he had an idea for some new construction project.

Azriel knew only of the child’s existence before the shields around Velaris rose, but after he moved into the Spymaster’s home he’d offered the then-eight-year-old a copper per week to subtly keep an eye on Cassian when Azriel moved out.

Shasta was a solitary child who rarely spoke, made no eye contact, and seemed to an untrained eye oblivious to the outside world. Her parents had taken her to some of Velaris’ most renowned experts, but her condition was not from some kind of abuse or error in development. She was simply… different. It was Azriel who’d first suspected she saw far more of the world than others realized, and when he asked her parents if he could employ her as a spy of sorts, they’d agreed. He was one of the very few she ever allowed to approach.

So he went to her, his not-so-secret little spy, and stopped a respectful distance away, “When did he leave?”

Shasta hummed softly to herself and kept staring at the way the plants danced in the breeze. Her flute- a constant companion- sat in her lap, and her fingers tapped along it in silent harmony with her voice.

“Did he come home last night?”

Her fingers slowed, the silent tune distinctly at odds with the one she was humming. In the unique language of Shasta’s mind, it was a clearenough ‘ _No_ ’.

“Is this- has it been typical of him?” Shasta had given Azriel no cause to worry about Cassian when he’d last visited the townhouse itself. Granted, that had been months ago. Cassian usually met  _him_  somewhere.

He was also at the mercy of what a child would deem ‘unusual’ behavior.

Shasta’s fingers returned to tapping along in harmony with her humming. A ‘ _Yes_ ’.

Azriel sighed and pulled three silver coins from his pocket. He set them down a distance from the girl, not breaking that invisible line she kept around herself, “Thank you. It smells like your father is trying to cook kolache again, you should run to the bakery before he burns them. Bring something good back for dinner.” The baker was a friend of the girl’s, and knew her special language better even than Azriel.

He walked away quietly, and only when he was halfway down the block did Shasta hurriedly scoop up the coins and rush into the street, off on her way. Azriel smiled at her back as she ducked around anyone who got too close. The smile did not reach his eyes.

_Cassian, what aren’t you telling us?_

Over the next two hours, Azriel discretely visited Cassian’s usual haunts. He hadn’t been seen at most of them in  _months_. Those places Cassian  _had_  been seen reported increased agitation over the last couple of weeks, and then he simply seemed to vanish.

“ _I sent him off three days ago when he came into my restaurant piss drunk at ten in the morning and ordered a keg of beer._ ”

That was a common theme for any sighting in the last few days. It wasn’t the anniversary of Rhysand’s loss- but something had gradually pushed Cassian down a  _very_  dark road, and Azriel couldn’t help but feel responsible. That house that was lived in and yet not, losing interest in places that he’d once frequented- 

Cassian was as much a warrior as Azriel, and just as good at asking for help when he needed it.

He knew where to find him, Azriel just hoped he was wrong hard enough to try everywhere  _else_  before he went to the back edge of Velaris and began to climb the steps that led up to the House of Wind.

As soon as Azriel was eye-level with the rooftops of the city, he felt a slight pull from the invisible tether Rhys had tied. Another ten steps, and the air seemed to grow denser, encouraging him to give up. By the time Azriel had gone  _fifty_  steps, it was becoming hard to fight against the bonds holding him to the city below.

At one hundred steps, he could just barely make something out far above, and the invisible noose began to tighten.

At one hundred fifty steps, Azriel was nearly crawling to reach the black boot that hung over a stair’s edge.

At two hundred steps, when Azriel couldn’t imagine pulling himself up any further, he found Cassian at last.

His friend was face-down on the stair, his face flush and what was likely vomit drying upon a messy tangle of stubble dangerously close to being a beard. Cassian’s eyes were glassy and he  _reeked_  of alcohol, sweat, and bile. Azriel hauled him up to sit against the side of the stairs. The idiot at least had the presence of mind to flair out his wings so they wouldn’t scrape against the stone.

“How long have you been up here?” Azriel demanded. Cassian’s face was heavily tanned- on one side.

“I’m  _going_ to my  _bed_.” The other male’s words were deeply slurred. His eyes fluttered around before they finally landed on Azriel, “Hey! You can help me!”

“Cassian, you don’t live up there anymore, remember?”

“ _You_  don’t, I do.” Cassian pushed at Azriel’s hands- missing several times. He struggled to rise, but between the alcohol and the force from Velaris’ shields, it was hopeless.

Azriel growled, “ _Listen_  to me- you live in Velaris. You’ve lived there for-“

“I KNOW HOW LONG IT’S BEEN!” Cassian roared and shoved hard. Azriel’s wings shot out and he pushed back against Cassian’s strength, lest he be tossed off the cliff face. It wouldn’t be possible to fly back to these heights and he  _really_  didn’t feel like climbing the stairs again. Cassian just kept shouting, his words barely intelligible “I GOT A NEW BED BEFORE THAT  _PRICK_  LOCKED ME OUT! I ONLY GOT TO SLEEP IN IT ONCE.  _I want to sleep in my bed!_ ” Cassian threw himself up another step before the shields clamped down on him. He was left sprawled much as when Azriel found him, but now he was spewing vulgar curses.

“Cassian, you can have another bed, a new one.” Azriel didn’t want to winnow Cassian down the mountain, but he began making a list of places that would be safe. He knew a sober Cassian wouldn’t want Velaris to see him like this- and also that winnowing would likely result in a great deal of fresh vomit.

“I DON’T WANT A NEW ONE!” Cassian shouted, still face down on the stairs as he struggled to rise, “I PAID FOR MY BED, I WANT TO SLEEP IN MY BED!”

His hand slipped off the edge of the stairs. Azriel didn’t want to find out what would happen if Cassian tried flying drunk, so he lunged for his friend. As soon as he touched Cassian’s boot, he winnowed across Velaris and into the first floor of his home.

Cassian got his revenge, as anticipated, in vomit.

Azriel waited while his friend heaved up the contents of his stomach- and then some. Cassian retched onto the floor, and before he even seemed to be finished, he turned on Azriel and charged at him, “I DIDN’T FUCKING ASK YOU TO-“

Azriel simply stepped aside and let Cassian crash to the floor, heaving once again.

“We’re meeting Mor and Amren in half an hour. Get your ass upstairs and clean up.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Listen, Cassian- there’s something  _wrong_  in Velaris. I think someone dangerous is prowling the streets, but I can’t find them alone. We have to meet the others somewhere  _private_ , and if they see you stumbling around piss drunk then-“

“Someone in Velaris?” Cassian’s eyes cleared somewhat. Even though his words were slurred and he reeked to high-heaven of booze and vomit, he stood on swaying legs.

Azriel only felt  _moderately_  guilty for lying to Cassian. Though, it wasn’t  _exactly_  a lie. Azriel already had that particular situation in Velaris more than under control. It was just that the fastest way to bypass any tantrum was to give Cassian a mission to focus on. Once he sobered up, he would  _probably_  be forgiving. Maybe...

Besides, Velaris was like every other city- there was a healthy underworld and criminals aplenty, more the longer Rhysand was gone. If Cassian  _needed_  a mission, Azriel would simply sic him on one of the street thugs.

“First clean up,  _change_ , and shave. We’ll talk about it with Amren and Mor once you’ve sobered up.”

“I’m not drunk.” Cassian glared. Azriel just pointed to the staircase. He took a single step and swayed far enough that he had to catch himself on the wall, “I’m  _a little_  drunk.”

“Good, then you’ll only have to sober up  _a little_. Third floor, get going.”

Cassian flipped Azriel a rude gesture and staggered up the stairs. Azriel looked at the fresh layer of vomit on the floor of the ruined interior.

_At least it adds to the atmosphere._

He sighed as he heard Cassian crash into something upstairs and went help his friend. Mor was patient, she’d forgive them being tardy.

 _And as for Amren- I’ll just say it’s_ his _fault._

* * *

While Cassian cleaned up, Azriel quickly wrote three notes and weighed out a small pouch of golden coins. He wandered back outside and handed everything to a grime-covered male with one leg and a crooked arm that suggested it had been broken  _many_  times.

“Keep what’s left when you’re done.”

The male sped off as best he could, but Azriel knew he’d travel all of three blocks before the grime and injuries vanished, his missing leg found its way home, his arm straightened, and an impeccably dressed male would be hurrying along without the cane. He’d been in Azriel’s employ for centuries, unknown to most but the Inner Circle.

Azriel waited for Cassian on the second floor of the spymaster’s home, staring down at the model of Velaris and letting his mind race in every direction. His shadows whispered of plots and secrets, but for tonight they were none of his concern. He needed to find  _something_  before-

“Well? Are we meeting the females or not?” Cassian huffed as he came down the stairs. Azriel’s spare black pants and navy shirt  _barely_  fit. He was walking just a little steadier, but it’d take a few gallons of the strongest tea in Velaris to sober him up.

“If you puke on my clothes, I’ll kill you slowly.” Azriel pushed Cassian towards the door.

He only had half a plan, but it was more than he’d started with.

* * *

“Ugh,  _finally_.” Mor rolled her eyes as the café owner opened the door to their private room and ushered Cassian and Azriel inside, “Cassian, you look like shit.”

Amren sized him up, “He doesn’t look any different to me.” She took a long drink of something thick, red, and steaming. Whatever spiced or spiked blood she was sipping on seemed to have put her in a good mood.

The owner simply bowed to the group and shot a glance at the tea kettles keeping warm in the center of the table, then looked to the food. When he deemed nothing in need of refilling, he quickly turned and left.

Cassian ignored the females and sunk into a chair. He grabbed the nearest pastry and downed it in two bites, sending crumbs cascading down his borrowed shirt. When a fat drop of bean paste hit the collar, he only grinned at the murder simmering in Azriel’s eyes.

“As welcome as this break is, why am I here Azriel? Mor looks fine and once Cassian sobers up he might pass as a grown male.” Amren ignored Cassian’s rude gesture, which was lucky for his health.

“He says there’s some kind of threat against Velaris.” Cassian growled.

“Good. Let something happen, I’m bored.” What lit Amren’s silver eyes was nothing short of terrifying. She hadn’t taken to being trapped in the city well. She would have happily remained of her own free will- but as soon as Rhys took the choice away he made their home a prison.

Mor looked at Azriel across the table and nodded.

“Protect Velaris. Protect each other. I love you all.” Azriel looked at each as he spoke, deliberately ending on Amren and not Mor, “That was an order from our High Lord, and his goodbye. It might be the last thing we  _ever_  hear from Rhysand, and we already failed him.”

“There’s no threat against Velaris, is there?” Cassian shoved back from the table, “I’m done here.”

Azriel caught his arm with a savage growl. Cassian roared at him- a wordless, primal challenge between males.

“Cassian, sit down and just listen, or I swear to the Cauldron you will be  _crawling_  out that door.” Mor’s control on her temper snapped at the display.

It took several tense moments for Cassian to decide how to respond. Amren was mildly interested at best, Mor furious, and Azriel just kept staring up at him from his chair with dangerous focus. He  _would_  fight to keep Cassian there.

He simply growled, wrenched his arm out of Azriel’s grip, and threw himself back into his chair. Mor lifted a kettle of the stronger tea to fill his cup, but he grabbed it from her hands and poured it directly into his mouth. 

“I hope you burn your tongue.” Amren’s tone was mild.

Azriel turned to address the table, “I know it’s hard, and I agree that Rhysand was a bastard for doing this to us, but it doesn’t change the fact that we are here, and we have jobs to do. Amren- while Rhys is gone, you hold the authority of the High Lord. It’s time to start acting like it. Mor- as her second, you need to do whatever you can to help the Governors figure out how to keep everyone with enough food and supplies. Work with what we’ve got- every inch of Velaris. I’m still spymaster, and there are  _always_  people for me to watch. Cassian-“

“I’m Rhys’ commander, so who exactly would you like me to fight? Oh wait- the war is out  _there_. As are my soldiers. Do you know  _how_  I know they’re out there? Because they’ve been trying to summon me for four years and I can’t do a damn thing about it. Should I join the Velaris town guard? I’m sure it’ll be exciting standing around on street corners doing  _nothing_.” Cassian practically spat the words.

There it was, the rage that was eating him alive. He couldn’t help his people. He couldn’t help Rhysand. ‘Protect Velaris’? There was nothing to protect it from, so long as the shields held. ‘Protect each other’? There were no threats for Cassian to face. Mor’s blood roared at her to defend Night, but Cassian was Illyrian, he could  _sense_  that his people needed him. And here he was. In a peaceful little café with nothing to do but wait.

Azriel just nodded, “You can’t fight, Cassian… but you can do what you’ve been doing: get ready for what will come when Rhys returns, or what will happen if he doesn’t. I sent a letter to the Palace Governors, they will begin posting notices in the streets that  _you_  are going to start training the people of Velaris to defend themselves. If those shields come down and we’re attacked, we’ll want absolute minimum loss of life. Get this city ready for war- without compromising the innocence of those inside.”

 _That_  made Mor pause, “Az, Velaris has  _never_  fought before. It’s a peaceful place-“

“Which only makes it vulnerable.” Cassian said quietly. Azriel could see he’d picked the perfect mission for Cassian- something that fed his rage and wrath, “You don’t think asking people to train for war will upset the peace? Start riots?”

“I don’t, but if it does that just means more fun for me.” Azriel said.

Amren had let Azriel’s little comment from earlier go unchallenged, but he deliberately avoided her gaze in the room now. She traced the rim of her cup, watching him, “Morrigan, come with me to the library later. There are some books that will help. Cassian- I’ll bring you down tomorrow to start planning defenses. Rhysand wouldn’t want Velaris militarized, so we’ll have to find ways to make those defenses less obvious. Azriel-“ she waited until he met her gaze, “-thank you for calling this meeting. And if you ever speak to me like that again, I will rip your spine out through your ass.”

He bowed his head.

The room was still tense as they began to eat and drink in earnest (Cassian allowed his kettle to be refilled by the owner but refused to relinquish it in favor of a cup). Still, as the hours rolled past and a true sense of planning and direction settled over them, that tension eased slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

And Azriel wasn’t done yet.

 _Three_  letters he’d sent out. One to the Palace Governors, one to Mor and Amren, and the last to a trusted merchant in the city- along with several coins.

“Cassian, meet me tomorrow in the library. We will begin planning defenses.” Amren stood to take Mor to that very same place.

“Amren, if you ever need to reference it, I have a fully detailed model of the city.” Azriel didn’t doubt for a second that Amren knew about the model just as she knew where his ‘secret’ home was, but she nodded all the same.

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mor promised Azriel as she stood.

That was what would ease the tension more than their different missions. Painful as it was to be reminded of Rhys’ absence, the Inner Circle would not let themselves drift apart again. Their pain was to be shared, not bottled up.

“I guess I’ll bring your clothes back some other time,” Cassian made to follow the females. “I’ll wash them first.” His temper had eased along with the effects of the liquor. His eyes were bleary, his face pale, and Azriel could  _see_  the hangover building.

“I had your things moved to my place already.” Azriel stood with him.

“I’m staying at the townhouse, you know that.”

“You’re staying with me. Even in the House of Wind, our chambers are across from one another. I went to the townhouse looking for you. I know how you’ve been living. You’re my brother, you  _ass_. I won’t let you do that to yourself.”

Azriel left no room for argument- but he knew he’d get none from Cassian. The loss of interest in his old favorite places, how withdrawn he’d been, and the latest bender- Cassian needed his friends. He just didn’t know how to say it.

Cassian at least put on a show in grumbling, “I can live on my own.”

“I don’t feel like living on  _my_  own. So do me a favor and move in.” There was more truth in that than he’d admit.

“ _Fine_.”

Azriel just rolled his eyes, paid the café owner on their way out, and led Cassian back across the city towards the slums and what was now  _their_  home. 

He let Cassian push the door open to the first floor. What few possessions Cassian had squirreled away in the townhouse were sitting on a tarp, protected from the disgusting mess of vomit he’d left in the room.

Sitting on top of it, with the sarcastically oversized bow Azriel had requested, was a new mattress.


	2. Part 2: Nineteen Years Trapped

##  **VELARIS (PART 2): 19 YEARS TRAPPED**

“ _Left! Right! Left! Right!”_

A cool autumn breeze tickled the sweat on Cassian’s bare chest as he walked down row after row of faeries. He gently corrected where needed, gave praise when it was due, and called out directions again and again. The children were the most disciplined of the lot, but even they were starting to glance towards the clock tower to the east, counting down the last moments of their lesson.

“ _Face forward!_ ” he called to no one in particular. Heads snapped back and several faeries struck at the air with renewed effort.

Fifteen years ago, when Azriel convinced him to take up the mission of training Velaris’ citizens, Cassian thought he’d arrive in the park to ten, maybe twenty school-aged children whose parents wanted some peace and quiet. What he was met by were several  _hundred_  faeries crammed into the same small field.

Now he taught three classes a day for an hour each, with different groups every single day of the week. Not a single faerie ever complained about the grueling workouts or sometimes painful injuries they sustained on sparring days- they all knew damn well what was happening outside the city. They didn’t feel the roaring in their blood like Cassian did, they didn’t hear the battle call of the Illyrian generals, but they all were keenly aware of the armies sweeping across Prythian. Of the thousands-  _millions_ \- now suffering beneath Amarantha’s rule…

Not to mention all those in Velaris who’d watched Rhysand grow up, who knew and loved their High Lord and could not stand the thought of him imprisoned while they did nothing. Training for battle was little comfort- but when there was so little comfort to be had in the first place, you took what you could get.

The ten o’clock bell began to chime at long last. Still, the faeries kept at their work until Cassian at last raised his hand, “We’re done for today. Next week is sparring, be warned!” He waited and at last flashed a grin as no one moved. They were trained to wait for his final question before leaving, “If the High Lord asks, how did you learn to fight?”

“ _NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS_!” No one in the crowd shouted louder than the children, who jumped up and punched the air to accentuate the curse word. Many were so young that it was  _weeks_ before he’d convinced them that in class- in that one single answer- they were permitted to use ‘grown-up words’.

He got a lot of complaints from parents.

All went ignored.

Cassian walked through the dissipating faerie horde back to where his bag- and shirt- were sitting. Morning training was nothing new to him, a simple tradition. From the park each day he grabbed brunch and ate on the way to inspect his various defense systems, then settled in to work where needed.

A small crew of wretches were now in his employ, teams guided by either an architect or builder with a clear plan of the city’s newer defenses. Hidden in many rooftops now were carefully concealed footholds where archers could take up positions and a few dozen expertly hidden ballistae. The walls had been reinforced with guard towers Rhys would no-doubt notice, bells made from melted old swords could chime a warning from one end of the city to the other in seconds, and thousands of drums of explosive powder were sitting carefully preserved in a tunnel sealed by Amren herself. Cassian almost  _wished_ someone would attack, if only to see Velaris rise up-

-and so he could blow a bit of steam off as well.

“Tomato, onion, basil, and a sprinkling of parmesan.” Cassian called to a high-fae male in a street stall as he approached.

The male immediately picked up a large bowl of pre-mixed eggs and ladled some onto a hot pan. While Cassian fished some coins out of his bag, the male began chopping ingredients for his omelet. “How did class go today?”

“Fine, I think we’re going to be spending our next four classes sparring, so warn your niece to go easy on the others. My goal this time is no broken jaws among the teenage fae.”

The male snorted and carefully flipped Cassian’s omelet, then began adding the extra ingredients, “One day she’ll realize she’s just been flirting with Turi all this time. Mark my words- those two are going to turn out to be mates. They hate each other too much to be anything less.”

“Agreed. Why do you think I keep pairing them together?” Cassian tossed his coins in a jar as the male began to roll his omelet into a tube and slipped it into a paper napkin.

“Keep doing that, Turi’s mother and my sister are already planning the wedding. Sure, they’re only twelve, but it’s never too early to start playing matchmaker. Here you go, see you tomorrow.” The male smiled as he passed Cassian his breakfast.

“See you tomorrow!” Cassian laughed and headed off into Velaris.

Every day he took the same alleys through the city towards the Sidra, even if it meant going ten minutes out of his way. While he walked he enjoyed his omelet, called greetings, snapped retorts at teasing faeries, and let the shadow in his eyes lift- if only for the morning.

The last fifteen years had been brighter than the first four, but every day was still its own challenge. The strain was a constant companion, one Cassian couldn’t imagine living without anymore. Five hundred years… how did the last nineteen manage to feel like five  _thousand_?

Cassian focused on the feeling of cool autumn air against his skin and willed his blood to cool.

_WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT DID TO MOR, BEING TRAPPED IN HERE WHILE YOU WERE-_

He took a deep breath and looked up between the houses to examine the cloudless blue sky, to watch the birds above, and let the sound of the distant ocean reach his ears.

_YOU KNOW WHAT AMREN’S CAPABLE OF YOU GODS-DAMNED FOOL- HOW DID YOU DECIDE SHE WASN’T USEFUL AT YOUR SIDE?! SHE COULD HAVE SLAUGHTERED AMARANTHA A HUNDRED TIMES BY-_

Cassian took another breath and listened instead to the low rumble of life around him- of Velaris taking in another perfect fall day. He could hear street vendors calling to one another, gossip and chatter drifting out the windows- even the rare cry of a babe.

_AZRIEL HIDES IT, BUT HE’S AS BROKEN AS MOR! THERE’S NOTHING IN HIS EYES ANYMORE- NO LIGHT, NO LIFE, THEY’RE JUST DEAD AND EMPTY, BUT HE WON’T ADMIT IT TO ANYONE! ONE OF THESE DAYS HE’S GOING TO SNAP AND-_

Cassian stopped walking and began counting backwards from one hundred, willing himself to see and hear the life around him.

_WHAT ABOUT ME? One hundred. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE- ninety nine- BROTHERS- I WAS –ninety eight- DROWNING WITHOUT ANY HOPE- ninety seven-, I’M STILL DROWNING- ninety six-, AND YOU’RE OFF PLAYING COURT JESTER- ninety five- WITH THAT FUCKING BITCH-_

Somewhere in the forties, Cassian finally stopped hearing it in his mind- the argument he was going to have with Rhys the  _second_  those shields vanished. Rage helped nothing, not while he was still trapped. His grievances couldn’t be aired, and so they kept swirling in his mind, poisoning him. In those first four years he’d let the poison seep into his very soul. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

_Would you rather see him reappear safe and happy, hollow and aching, or would you rather that shield came down right now and Amarantha drop his mangled corpse on the city as her legions sweep in?_

Cassian spoke to his own mind now, soothing the raging in his soul back. The truth was, he didn’t think he wanted to know what sort of shape Rhysand was in. If he was happy, Cassian might just kill the bastard to repay everything the Inner Circle had gone through- was  _still_  going through. If he was broken, guilt for all those imaginary fights might bury Cassian alive. If Rhys was dead-

If he was dead, then Cassian would turn Under the Mountain into a crater with every last ounce of power in his veins. What he would unleash on Amarantha even  _Amren_  would have to marvel at… and that explosion of power was not one Cassian would come back from. He’d follow Rhys into the afterlife and kick his damned ass  _there_.

He never wanted to know how Rhys was fairing. He’d sell his soul for even a glimpse at his brother.

Some days were easier than others. This wasn’t turning out to be one of the easier days.

Slowly the cry of distant seagulls surrounded Cassian, calling him back from that raging tempest in his mind. He let them draw his steps forward once more, towards the calls of farmers along the banks of the Sidra.

When he emerged from between two buildings, Cassian was greeted by Mor’s project. If Cassian was to vent his frustration and rage teaching faeries how to fight, Mor had found her own balance in saving Velaris itself.

The Sidra crept slowly, its upper currents slowed by a small army of gifted water-inclined fae working in shifts day and night. Loose wooden rafts swayed in the water, each filled with crops and herbs.

That was what Amren had shown Mor that night Cassian had moved in with Azriel. She’d found the story of an ancient city built on top of a lake- and how they’d used that lake to their advantage by making it into farmland.

Each raft was nearly the width of the Sidra itself, and at least twenty feet long. Nets beneath the water’s surface held a layer of rock and stone that was topped with thick chunks of wood. On top of that soggy wood, above the surface of the water, was another layer of rock, then a thick layer of dirt into which the crops were planted. Their roots tangled into the Sidra below, and a bit of carefully applied magic and science helped make up for any missing nutrients. Mor had taken a river and turned it into wheat fields and herb gardens. She’d also built a network of underground tunnels, employed several more faerie farmers gifted with green thumbs (some literally), and beneath the surface of Velaris they’d managed to grow barley, flax, tomatoes, and- most importantly- grapes for wine. Now, instead of asking the fae to stop trying to conceive their precious young, there was actually a  _surplus_  of food for Velaris’ population. Mor had already dared plant a few caverns of flowers, just so that some light and color could be brought up into the city above and those without gardens to tend.

As much time as he spent arguing with Rhys in his mind, Cassian smiled at the thought of how that ass would respond to everything Mor and Amren had accomplished in only fifteen years. Fifteen endless, agonizing years full of more pain than Cassian had felt in centuries- but also more innovation, brilliance, and beauty.

So Cassian went out of his way every single day to walk along the Sidra and marvel at the farms planted there, and the promise of life they offered. He let the sun tan his skin, warm his wings, and watched farmers bringing in their harvests. There was time, perhaps, for a simple crop of late-blooming squash for winter soups before those rafts would be brought ashore and tied down for the winter.

Then the Sidra would host ice skating parties and races, then Velaris would lose itself to games and revelries until the spring came and it was time to get back to work. Only the caverns beneath Velaris could grow food year round, thanks to the magics at work. Cassian’s classes would likewise move underground in the winter chill, and afterwards he’d wander through those chambers and let the simple miracle of what Mor had accomplished give him strength.

“How is it going?” Cassian looked up to see one of his crews on the roof of a nearby building, adding in the archer footholds he’d ordered.

“Fine enough. I think we’ll get another eight houses outfitted today.” One of the males called down.

He’d been a street wretch when Cassian employed him. The male sometimes had trouble retaining information, and had a habit of talking to himself. He’d ended up on the fringes of Velaris, begging for coin or work. All it took was a patient mentor and a bit of repetition for him to pick up what he needed to learn. Cassian’s overseers on each crew had made a project of every poor, disenfranchised fae he brought to them, and now his team was respected and admired for their efforts to protect Velaris.

“That’s fantastic, keep up the good work!” Cassian waved with a smile and the male returned to work. He had another crew working on houses in the Rainbow that he visited, then ducked towards the western wall of the city to check on the new guard tower there. His other crews were underground, slowly connecting the four palaces deep beneath the surface of Velaris (deeper even than Mor’s farms), creating a network of reinforced evacuation tunnels.

Cassian had spent several months blasting at the rock until he was drained of both magic and physical strength. He told the others it was scouting for his evacuation tunnels, but they knew the truth” he’d been seeing if it was possible to tunnel  _beneath_  the shield around the city.

Fortunately for the people of Velaris, unfortunately for him, the shield extended into the earth with no end.

_Rhys isn’t stupid… the stupid prick._

Within the next few months, Cassian would be beneath the surface of the earth for days on end, training and digging endlessly. Once  _that_ was done, he’d need to return to Azriel’s map and find his next project. Hopefully a big one, something to occupy his mind for a few years more. The Rainbow was woefully undefended, perhaps something could be done there without spoiling the innocence of the artists inside and turning their world into a military instillation…

Cassian reached the edge of a quarry and handed his bag to a winged faerie who in turn gave him a pickaxe. The quarry was up against one of the mountains that pinned Velaris in, and though they’d reached the edge of the shield already, the quarry could go deeper and deeper as needed. They’d even discovered a healthy vein of iron that ran through the rocks. What was mined supported the daily uses of Velaris, but Cassian had negotiated a deal with the master stonemason where anything  _he_  mined went to a smelter and blacksmith in his employ to build whatever he needed.

It was incredibly slow work, considering he was the only one mining the ore, but that just meant he wouldn’t have to think about doing anything else for a long,  _long_  time…  As much as it hurt to think about the shields lasting another  _second_ , it helped to plan months or even years down the road. It gave him something to work towards.

So Cassian swung his pickaxe and ferried chunks of rock and metal to his own little mining cart, far from the stone carvers. He let his muscles warm back up, let the sweat begin to bead once more, and let the racing of his heart burn away all thought save for that of his task.

_Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit._

The heft of his pickaxe was a now-familiar one, and Cassian let it slowly drain the rage and wrath from his muscles as he swung. His heart raced, the cry of metal against stone turned into a strange sort of music, and Cassian’s mind was lulled into a comfortable, numb silence.

No one bothered him, no one ever did. As well as he thought he hid the rage and pain from the citizens of Velaris, they knew the Inner Circle wasn’t happy. They knew that, for all the love his people held for him, Rhysand’s absence was felt by none more keenly than his friends. If Cassian was willing to work alone, they’d leave him to his peace. They humored every new defense he added to the walls, they let their children train at dawn before classes to fight a war that would probably never reach their walls, and they greeted him only with smiles and a wave when he was walking through the streets.

Cassian had his solitude, but when he ventured to the bars alone he was soon swarmed by laughing, joking fae who managed to ease his mood. If the clothier who’s shop was across from Mor’s apartment didn’t see her leave for a day or two, the baker down the street suddenly found themselves with an overabundance of Mor’s favorite muffins and delivered them personally- purely in the interest of preventing waste. When the light had flickered out in Azriel’s eyes, an underground conspiracy suddenly bubbled up- one so convoluted and nonsensical, Azriel  _still_  hadn’t found the end of it.

As for Amren- they mostly just plied her with new ways to season and spice blood. Ironically, Amren was the easiest person to draw a smile from.

As much as the Inner Circle protected Velaris, the people of Velaris protected them right back.

Cassian only stopped for a few gulps of water all day, until the sun began to dip behind the western mountains and the clock tower chimed four. The quarry bell rang with it- telling the workers it was no longer deemed safe to dig in the gathering shadow. Cassian’s hands were numb, his arms ached, and a knot of muscle twisted in his back. He ignored it all as he scooped up the ore he’d managed to dislodge, dumped it in his cart, and started the trek back up to the entrance.

His thighs burned, he was soaked in sweat, and covered in so much dirt and debris that even his wings felt heavier-

-but he knew he’d sleep well tonight.

A fae youth noticed how slowly Cassian was pushing his cart- it was grossly overfull. Without a word, he came over and nudged the Illyrian commander aside. Cassian adjusted, tucked his wings in tight to give the boy room, and together they shoved the heavy cart up the track to where one of his blacksmiths was waiting with a wagon and ledger to record the shipment.

“Thank you.” Cassian glanced at the boy. The youth simply nodded and went back to his fellow diggers. He was from one of Cassian’s classes- a mute. Cassian made a mental note to take it easy on his group when they trained in two days.

“Good haul today, huh?” the faerie who’d given him his axe guided the cart over to a large scale. While she calculated the weight of ore and rock he’d extracted, Cassian wiped stinging rivers of sweat from his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a soft vein.” His voice was hoarse.

“Oh, I doubt that.” She’d been watching- Cassian was swinging that pickaxe like he had a grudge against the mountain.

“You still want this turned into arrowheads for the ballistae? We’ve got around a hundred completed already.” The blacksmith came over to his side.

“No, how many swords can you get?”

The man raised an eyebrow at the load, “If that’s as pure as what we’ve already got stockpiled? Maybe thirty, thirty-five.”

“Do that then, tomorrow we’ll start another stockpile for the usual- nails and hinges. The building supplies are getting low again.” The male nodded at Cassian’s order and made a quick note in his ledger. Velaris had more than enough weapons built up, Cassian had officially begun preparing for war with Hybern. If Rhys escaped or somehow killed Amarantha, that would be their next step.

At least, after Cassian was done kicking his ass.

“Can you handle things here?” he asked the female and male both.

“Yeah, we only need you for the manual labor.” The male clapped him on the shoulder, “Go get some food, drink, and the warmth of a good female’s-“ the faerie weighing the cart coughed and shot the blacksmith a dirty look, “-the warmth of a good female’s  _heart_.” He smiled innocently.

Cassian made to chuckle, though it came out sounding more like a cough, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.” He shot the female an apologetic smile.

She just rolled her eyes at the blacksmith and waved to the table she usually sat at, “You know where it is.”

“Thank you.” Cassian walked over to a row of cubbies behind her desk and pulled his bag and shirt from inside. He shrugged the shirt on to cover most of the dirt and walked through the quarry gates back into the city.

Azriel’s ‘hovel’ was only a few blocks away. Cassian spent those blocks furiously flapping his wings to dislodge as much of the dust as possible without taking flight. He’d still have to clean the tub once he was done bathing, but it had become a daily routine, as mindless as swinging that pickaxe.

Cassian kicked what dirt he could from his boots on the porch of the house, even though the first floor was all dust, debris, scum, and old vomit. He shouldered the door open and bolted it behind him. Some magic around the porch seemed to keep the vagabonds outside from noticing Cassian- though he was pretty sure at least half of them were Azriel’s men, likely hanging around waiting to give a report. Cassian wasn’t entirely sure there  _were_  homeless in Velaris- so many turned out to be Azriel’s spies.

Unknown to Azriel, at least four of them were involved in keeping alive the ‘conspiracy’ he was having so much trouble unraveling.

“I’m home,” Cassian called from the top of the stairs. He kicked off his shoes on the top of the landing and let them add their  _unique_  fragrance to the stench of the false first floor. When he opened the door to Azriel’s main level, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his friend pacing.

“Townhouse.” Azriel pointed to a clock on the wall. Four-thirty.

“Shit, that’s today. Alright, I’ll be fast.”

Once a week, ever since he’d moved in with Azriel, the Inner Circle met at the townhouse for a family dinner and to do some basic cleaning. His obsessive, compulsive need to feel useful in those early years had driven Cassian to clean that townhouse from the ceiling to the foundation. Now it looked less pristine and smelled more… loved.

It was easier since Rhys’ scent had at last faded to a bare whisper. Easier and yet- without even that there, it hardly felt like a home anymore. Still, when he returned it would be to less of a museum or mausoleum…

 _And then I kick his ass_.

Telling himself that time and again made things  _so much easier_.

“Are you alright?” late as Cassian was, Azriel was  _still_  pacing, and that wasn’t like him.

“I’m fine.”

“What is it? Az- we don’t keep secrets, remember?” Cassian folded his arms across his chest and waited, “The longer you go without answering me, the more my feet are stinking up the room.”

Azriel stopped pacing and absentmindedly started rubbing at a spot on his chest, “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s called a ‘feeling’, is it a bad one or a good one?”

“Don’t be a prick.” Azriel’s fingers dug into his shirt, as if he could push the feeling away, “I honestly don’t know what it is. Something… Sharp? Edged? Like something is coming… Like an eye is being drawn here.” He shook his head and dropped his hand, “But also like the eye is being drawn  _from_  here.”

“I’ll get cleaned up, then we’ll head for the townhouse. Maybe Amren senses it too.” A thrill went through Cassian at the prospect of a threat in Velaris.

He hoped it was a big one.

A  _very_  big one.

* * *

—

Amren and Mor walked across Velaris in amicable silence. Mor was almost buried under the weight of the parcels she carried, but when Amren offered to help, she’d vehemently refused the offer. What Amren carried in her small hands was far,  _far_  too precious. Mor wanted her full and undivided attention on protecting that small bundle.

Amren set aside her quest to cut the Inner Circle’s bond with the shield around the sixth year they’d been trapped. She helped Mor and Cassian with their endeavors as always, but her new research had taken her into the deepest corners of the library- right to the bottom and the creature of shadow that lived there.  _What_  she was searching for had been a secret. When she found it ten years ago, it became something precious.

Now she cradled in her hands the greatest gift anyone could ever hope for:

Hope.

Or was it damnation?

Amren’s stomach twisted uncharacteristically as she walked with Mor across the city. What she’d seen, what she was going to show them- it could be more curse than gift. The faeries emotions could be so damn hard to predict, Amren had kept this secret for ten years for a reason, and not just because the spell took so damn long to take root.

Azriel, Cassian, Mor- they’d found the strength to hold on even with the screams that filled their hearts and blood. It was a precarious strength, once destroyed it would never quite rebuild. Azriel especially seemed to be teetering on some precipice the other two simultaneously ignored and flirted with themselves.

Ancient as she was, unfeeling as she pretended to be, worry gnawed at Amren’s gut. Ten years she’d debated telling the others about what magic she’d woken. And what that magic showed her-

It could very well be the nudge that shoved Azriel into a freefall he’d never recover from.

Or it could smother Cassian’s rage in his veins.

Or break Mor beyond repair.

“Hurry up, dinner’s almost ready!” Cassian opened the door as soon as the females were on the front walk, “We were late. You’re  _very_  late.”

Mor shoved most of her parcels into Cassian’s arms, “I don’t care. It’s a good day.”

_Will she be saying that in an hour?_

“What’s that?” Cassian looked at the wrapped bundle in Amren’s arms.

“Something that will wait until after dinner.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged and stepped aside to admit the females, “Azriel might have something for the two of you to look into. He says something’s coming.”

Amren tapped the parcel with her hand, “I guarantee you he’s worrying over  _this_. It’s fine. Velaris isn’t under attack.”

_See- why does he look disappointed?_

She stepped around Cassian as his excitement deflated and he kicked the door closed. His wings dipped slightly, his shoulders stooped, and when he went to deposit Mor’s parcels in the sitting room his footsteps were heavy.

“I’ll get this stuff out. We have a few minutes.” Cassian mumbled. Mor quickly went to his side and gave him a light shove, then bent down to help him unpack. Her mood was far brighter, but she knew Amren wouldn’t budge and reveal her surprise until after they’d eaten. Cassian could be disappointed for now, all that would change later on.

At the change of each season, the Inner Circle would change out the decorations in Rhysand’s townhouse to reflect the time of year. While Cassian pulled down blue curtains and wrapped glass seashells of summer for storage, Mor aired out the red and gold drapes to mark autumn. Crystalized leaves and intricately carved amber replaced the shells on the mantle. Sticks of cinnamon, cloves, and dried flowers filled bowls throughout the townhouse- even in Rhysand’s own room.

As Azriel finished preparing dinner, Mor and Cassian ushered in the fall. Amren sat quietly in the corner and stared at the wrapped bundle, debating over and over if she should even reveal it.

Hope… It  _was_  hope, but would revealing it to the others be granting them some kind of solace, or ripping apart what little peace of mind they’d found?

“Dinner’s ready.” Azriel’s voice actually managed to surprise Amren. She looked up- if he was standing so close then he must have called a few times. His eyes were dark, numb, though he was trying to hide it. Azriel had let grief and rage smother him, even as he took care of the others.

“Are you going to let them help you?”

Azriel glanced over his shoulder to where Mor and Cassian were filtering into the dining room, following the smell of roasted chicken and greens, “They need me more.”

“Liar.”

“Takes one to know one.” He said simply. Azriel turned and left Amren sitting there.

_Fine. Just for that, I’ll see if insanity looks any better in those eyes, Shadowsinger._

* * *

—

They dined with minimal chatter.

Mor was too excited, Amren too nervous, Azriel on edge, and Cassian too disappointed to learn he suddenly  _didn’t_  have a mysterious enemy to fight. That it was an enemy he’d known about for all of an hour was beside the point. In the Inner Circle’s state, any minor disappointment felt like a crushing blow.

Their happiness was  _so damn fragile_.

Only when the meal was finished, the dishes done, and Cassian had set out hot mugs of tea (and one mug of spiced blood) did Amren lift her parcel onto the table.

Mor’s grin stretched ear-to-ear.

 _Why did I tell her?_  Amren sighed,  _Right, because when I went to meet her she looked like shit._

What she’d given Mor was the best-case-scenario… A way to whisper through the shield.

“I’ve been… waiting to see if this spell would take hold. It’s an old one, designed to spy on only the most powerful of enemies. It takes years-  _decades_  to reach full potency, and even then what it offers is limited. This one may never reach full strength, the primary ingredient was almost too far degraded for the spell to even take hold.”

“Is that what I’ve been sensing?” Azriel’s focus was locked on the cloth, as though he could see through to what was inside. His hand was again rubbing at his chest.

“Yes. Once the spell had time to grow, I activated it. It’s like… like opening a window on a cool breeze. The first wave of it across the city is what you felt. That will fade soon enough. I think the last time I saw this magic used the scent took a week to wear off.”

Amren hesitated again, then began to untie the fabric, “I took one of Rhysand’s hairs. The spell requires them to be fresh, and his were already six years old. So… As I said, it may never reach full potency. If it does…”

Her nerves were enough to slowly pull the smile from Mor’s face.

Amren was  _never_  nervous, but now she felt like some mortal child. At some point she’d started feeling emotions for these faeries, and those emotions were giving her a distinctly unpleasant sensation where a heart would be on a true living form.

She cleared her throat, “The magic creates a link with Rhysand’s life force- his soul, his fate. Azriel, what you feel in the city is the eye of the Cauldron- divided as it is.”

Cassian’s eyes were wide and over bright. He took a deep, heavy breath, “Can we- can we communicate with him?” he barely risked a whisper. His greatest hope- and worst fear.

“I don’t think it will ever get that strong, I’m sorry.” Amren was already silently cursing the emotion that welled up as she spoke those words, “But… we can see if he’s alright. If he’s happy, or if-“ she swallowed hard, “-would you want to know?” she was holding the fabric on the thing inside tightly, not letting a single glimpse of it escape. She knew already what it would tell them.

“Yes.” Azriel said instantly. Amren looked to read his eyes- there was a flickering light in there. Emotion, where there hadn’t been anything before. He was breathing hard, his hand twitching as if he wanted nothing better than to rip the bundle out of Amren’s hands.

“Yes.” Mor was rubbing at her knuckles, as close as the female would come to wringing her hands.

“ _Yes_.” Cassian was the only one not looking at the bottle. He was staring at Amren directly.

She nodded and looked down, “It’s like a lantern, I was going to sit it on the mantle here. This place- it’s Rhysand’s. Being here could improve the potency of the spell. According to the scrolls, in this rudimentary stage it can only give us a sense of what is inside Rhysand- his mood, his mental state. If it’s ruby-red, that means happiness or love. The darker it is-“ she cleared her throat, “the darker it is the worse it is… Do you still want to see it?”

They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to speak- Amren could see in their eyes that if she walked out with that lantern now, they’d attack her and rip it out of her hands. Her wrath would not be greater than their desperation for  _whatever_  that lantern would show.

Amren looked down and slowly pulled the last bit of cloth away.

When she activated the spell, she thought it’d be dark with flashes of red- or red with flashes of darkness. A balance between despair and happiness. Proof that Rhys had found something to keep him going, even trapped in Amarantha’s Court as the Lord of Nightmares.

It was blacker than the shadows that whispered in Azriel’s ear. It was wholly and utterly void of any semblance of life and color. What pulsed softly from that lantern was something dark and dead.

“Don’t touch it,” Amren said softly when Mor reached out, a tear slipping down her cheek. “As the spell strengthens, you might be able to feel some sense of his pain. You don’t- you have enough of your own Morrigan.”

“He’s my kin.” Mor took the lantern from Amren.

What whispered to her from within the darkness was indeed something cold and long dead. It was like a memory of her darkest days after Azriel had found her body on Autumn’s border- a depression so whole and complete, the soul inside could only be starving to death. It  _ached_  for a release from the pain that consumed it.

“He can’t hear me?” She looked up to Amren as tears fell. Rhysand’s darkness was overwhelming her heart, but she took it willingly. If it did anything to help him, she would take every drop of that pain and darkness.

“I don’t think so, I’m sorry.” Amren felt that ache again in her chest at the pain on Mor, Cassian, and Azriel’s faces.

Mor looked down and wrapped both arms around the lantern, holding it tightly to her heart, “You are the Lord of Dreams and Starlight. You are kind and brave and true. Velaris is protected. We’re all still here, waiting for you to come back.” She whispered to that darkness with both heart and mind, willing  _something_  to get through. “If you break, she wins.” Rhys had said something similar to her once, as she recovered from what Kier and the others in the Hewn City did to her, “Don’t let the bitch win.”

She held the lantern tight and let that icy cold seep into her blood until, at last, Azriel took it from her and stood. He didn’t take the lantern to the mantle, where Amren had intended for it to go. He took it to the seat beside Cassian- the seat no one dared sit in, the one no one acknowledged.

Rhysand’s seat.

“He wouldn’t like being stuck in a room with no life,” Azriel returned to his seat and looked down at his hands. “He’d want to be where we are together the most. That’s here, not in there.”

Amren nodded and reached beneath the table to squeeze Azriel’s knee. He’d hate Mor or Cassian seeing him weak- or what his proud heart deemed weak- but the covert gesture of comfort meant as much to him as anything. A small bit of strength shared from one friend to the other.

Rhysand was suffering.

Cassian had his answer, and if anything he felt guilty for the relief that gave him. He was a shit friend- a disgrace of a brother for thinking it- but knowing their pain was felt by Rhys as well- it was a sick sort of satisfaction that made Cassian’s stomach twist and shudder.

Cassian slammed his hand on the table in his haste to stand as his stomach heaved. He hunched forward and wrestled disgust, shame, guilt, and his dinner back under control. The others looked at him, waiting for the dam to break. Cassian only took several deep breaths and began to count back from one hundred.

Mor reached out to put her hand on his, tears still slipping from her eyes. Cassian flinched at her touch and took a step away.

“Where are you going?” Amren’s voice was as soothing as she was capable of as Cassian took a step away from the lantern and towards the hall.

“Rhys isn’t coming home to a city ready for war- that’s not what he’s going to need.” Cassian’s mind was shooting a thousand different directions.

Hope. Amren had given them hope-

And for Cassian that meant pain as well.

He took a step towards the door, then looked back to the inky depths of the lantern. Cassian snatched it up and held it tight. He stared into it as hard as he could, throwing everything he had at it. That empty, icy room in his mind he’d always left open for Rhysand felt like a crypt, but Cassian stood on the threshold to that room and screamed as loud as he could into the empty void, even as spoke to the lantern.

“Velaris is waiting for you. Come home.”

With that, Cassian set the lantern down and stormed out into the night.

* * *

—-

Someone Else was laying naked in the large bed while a female readied for the night’s entertainment in her throne room. Someone Else answered when she spoke with the same teasing glint in their eyes as when she’d been on top of them-

Someone Else did that. Someone.  _Else_.

Not him.

He was the one curled in a ball deep inside Someone Else, legs to his chest, wings wrapped tightly around his body to protect it from that world beyond Someone Else. What she’d done to- 

-that wasn’t him. That wasn’t his body. It couldn’t be.

_You are the Lord of Dreams and Starlight. You are kind and brave and true. Velaris is protected. We’re all still here, waiting for you to come back. If you break, she wins. Don’t let the bitch win._

He didn’t hear the words, he  _felt_  them deep in his heart. A brief flash of golden hair- of warmth and light and color- made him stir. The cocoon he held himself in cracked ever so slightly. Someone Else- they didn’t hear or feel it- they couldn’t. They still had to smile when directed, laugh, tease, maim, scare, hurt, and do things they  _couldn’t_  if that cocoon broke.

In that body that wasn’t his- the body he’d never again claim ownership of after what had happened to it- Someone Else’s skin seemed to shift and rumble.

Someone Else felt the stirring of that other male and hurriedly shoved him down, smothered him and beat at him with memories too horrible for the male to face. Someone Else willed that male to slumber, to fade, to  _die_.

_Velaris is waiting for you. Come home._

Like the pounding of a drum, a shock ran through Someone Else from the male cocooned so deep inside.

A thousand miles away, somewhere far in the north in a city that  _had_ to be forgotten, in a townhouse that fell silent as the visitors filed out, on a dinner table that had seen such happiness, before a seat that had been empty for far too long, a black lantern was sitting.

There was no one to witness the brief rumble of red lightning within as Someone Else shuddered.

Deep within the ruins of Someone Else’s soul, Rhysand began to stir.

* * *

##  **ALL COMMENTS LOVED AND CHERISHED (EVEN THE ONES CALLING ME SATAN)!**

**I promise the next chapter will be more cheerful, I _swear_!**


	3. Part 3: Thirty Years Trapped

**Velaris (Part 3): Thirty Years Trapped**

By all rights, Azriel should have hated the winter.

In his father’s dungeon, the cold was savage and inescapable. It made his teeth chatter and his poor, stunted wings ache. 

In the Illyrian camps, it had nearly killed him. He’d found himself longing for the hard stone walls of his father’s cells. At least there he was sheltered from the wind. 

From a purely strategic standpoint, thick blankets of snow reflected the sun to the point where it was painful to even open your eyes- and it reduced his shadows to nothing. He was more blind in the winter than at any other time.

But even so, winter was his favorite time of the year.

It was winter when he was finally dragged out of his father’s cells and thrown into a distant Illyrian camp. It was during a blizzard, when Azriel was found nearly frozen to death at the edge of camp, that Rhysand’s mother had demanded he move into the cottage. That blizzard gave him a slight scar at the ends of his rounded ears where frostbite had nibbled away skin, but it also gave him brothers, and an adopted mother.

It was also winter when Azriel and Cassian had been invited to accompany that little brat Rhysand to the winter solstice feasts. Azriel could still remember the gleam in Rhysand’s eyes as they crested the mountains and the two Illyrian boys saw Velaris for the first time.

Azriel looked across the city from the warmth of his house and remembered that day as clearly as ever. Just as it had back then, the brightly painted shops of Velaris seemed to glitter beneath their layers of snow and ice. Fae bundled in furs would be rushing around the higher levels of the city, hurrying to the shops to buy some last minute item or ingredient for their solstice feasts. Even in the slums the snow had a way of making everything look clean and beautiful.

Also, if he was being  _perfectly_  honest, Azriel didn’t mind his shadows taking a break.

The silence was  _more_  than welcome.

“ _Cauldron_  knows what Abra is thinking!” Cassian was ranting as he tore open endless crates of ribbon and fabric, “This is  _amethyst_! I asked for  _violet_! You’d think the Governess of the Palace of Thread and Jewels would know the difference between amethyst and violet!”

Azriel rolled his eyes and said a silent prayer for patience, “Have you considered that they are the same color?”

“They  _aren’t_! Look at this- this is the sample she gave me, just  _look_!” Azriel begrudgingly turned, tearing his eyes from the quiet beauty outside. Cassian was holding a scrap of purple fabric in his hand. In his other hand he held the end of a long streamer- also purple.

Completely and utterly indistinguishable.

“Oh, you’re right. They’re totally different,” Azriel said, “you should go complain.”

Actually, it might be fun to watch Cassian try to pick a fight with Abra. She’d eat him alive.

Cassian huffed and threw the end of silk back into the crate, “What, and look like a total prick? The dyes are too limited, the fabric takes too long to make without our usual suppliers. It took her  _seven years_  to fill this order. If I complain, it makes me look like a whiny bastard.”

Azriel swallowed his retort that Cassian  _was_  a whiny bastard.

“I’m just saying that if she  _says_  she can get the order right, she has  _seven years_  to get the order right, then why is it all the wrong color? It’s meant to match Rhys’ eyes, like this it will clash!”

“Right, he’ll take one look at the streamers and throw the shields right back up until we all have paid for the crime of  _clashing_  with his  _eyes_.” Azriel rolled his own, “Cassian, you’ve been hanging around the artists of the Rainbow for too long, and it shows. You need to take a break. You’ve been planning this for eleven years now, there is no deadline"

“No deadline?” Cassian snapped, “ _No deadline_?! Rhys could literally appear any second!  _No deadline_?! You want him to come back to a city that isn’t even ready to  _celebrate his return_?!”

Azriel almost missed the quietly miserable male from the  _first_  nineteen years. Cassian had drowned out the roar of the Illyrian summons they both  _still_  felt by training the people of Velaris to fight and readying the city’s defenses. Ever since Amren showed them that lantern- given them even the possibility that they might be able to make  _some sort_  of contact with Rhys- Cassian’s focus had snapped. He no longer planned to fight or endure, though his building crews were still busy with new defenses. No, now Cassian had a new obsession-

Planning a city-wide celebration for the  _second_  Rhys returned.

At first it seemed like a good way for Cassian to burn his extra energy- one that didn’t leave him swinging a pickaxe alone for hours on end. He’d run from the townhouse that night all the way to the Rainbow, where he began recruiting a team of artists to help him. Now, he led a small counsel of those same individuals, whose task was to clean up and beautify Velaris.

Every storefront and house was to be cleaned and freshly painted, cracked or loose cobblestones had to be replaced, statues in the parks were buffed and polished, and every last scrap of trash was quickly removed from the streets. Velaris was a tidy city, lovely in the organized chaos of the four Palaces and the thousands-  _tens of thousands_ \- of stores, taverns, clubs, and houses of ill repute. After Cassian began his mission though, the city was gleaming as though it were brand new.

He’d gone door to door personally, convincing faeries to let his team help fix everything from broken shutters to old roof tiles at no cost to the owner (or, when the owner couldn’t be convinced, just doing it anyways in the dead of night). He drew on that stipend that was eternally being added to his account and much of Velaris donated coin or time on top of it all.

 _Then_  he’d gotten it into his head that they should have a parade ready.

Somewhere between there and his order of twenty miles worth of streamers, Cassian had well and truly lost his mind.

 _And if he has his way, the rest of us will too_. Azriel turned back to look out over the city.

“What if Rhysand doesn’t  _want_  a parade or some party?” After so long in Amarantha’s court with the other High Lords, it didn’t seem unreasonable to expect Rhys would want some peace and quiet.

A  _snarl_  noise behind him made Azriel turn. Cassian was looking at him with that inhuman, feral wrath that made even Kier think twice before speaking. A growl lined every breath, and even the talons of his wings seemed to angle towards Azriel, “ _Thirty. Years._  He put us through this for  _thirty years_. The only choice Rhys has is to either  _endure the gods-damned parade_ , or be disemboweled and have his intestines hung up as streamers.”

“I’m sure he’ll like the parade,” Azriel said quickly. He made a mental note to watch Cassian  _more_. He hadn’t meant the threat on Rhysand’s life, but if anyone- even Rhys- got between him and that celebration, Cassian would be out for blood.

As quickly as it seemed to come on, the wrath vanished from Cassian’s face and he went back to inspecting the fabric, “I’m accepting the order, but as soon as those shields are up I am writing a  _strong_  letter to Abra explaining the difference between  _amethyst_  and  _violet_.”

“Hey, Cassian? If I go into the city-“

“I’ll meet you at the townhouse.” Cassian waved him off, “The feast starts at sundown. Don’t forget.”

Azriel edged around Cassian as he made for the door, wearily studying the other male for any hint of that temper. He didn’t know what was more troubling- the vicious rage that had twisted him only moments before, or the complete and utter absence of it now.

 _I’ll meet Mor after the ceremonies and see what she thinks_. Mor and even Amren were busy representing the Inner Circle- and Rhysand- at one of the many Solstice celebrations around Velaris. Cassian was one of  _two_  problems they would need to address soon.

Over the last several months, something was happening to Rhysand’s lantern.

Amren feared the spell was finally failing. The hair she’d used to tie it to Rhysand’s fate and life force was years old when she cast the ancient magic, Amren had always been up front with her doubts on its potency. 

Since sometime in the middle of spring, the darkness that was supposed to represent Rhysand had been slowly boiling down. What once filled the lantern now took up only half of it- and in the middle of the previous night odd pulses had flashed from it- ripples of that same power they’d felt when Amren woke the spell eleven years ago. 

The eye of the Cauldron, drawn once more to Velaris… or perhaps leaving them at last.

Azriel stepped out of his house and breathed deep the crisp winter air, willing it to clear his mind.

 _Hope_. They needed  _hope_.

 If they lost that vague connection to Rhysand, would it be enough to snap whatever was holding Cassian together? Or Mor? Or Amren?

He knew that ever day since Amren revealed the lantern, a member of the Inner Circle had gone to speak to it. Mor simply reminded Rhysand who he was and what he had to protect, Amren murmured dark threats about what was going to happen to Amarantha when she was finally free, and Cassian- well, half the time he ranted, the other half he just sat there, trying desperately to make contact through that strange spell.

As the years rolled on, the magic strengthened. Now, instead of being solidly black it rippled on occasion with red lightning. It was all the encouragement the others needed to keep visiting it.

Azriel refused to so much as touch the thing, mostly because he didn’t know what he’d do if he got the chance to actually speak to Rhysand.

Something tugged at the back of Azriel’s mind, like the whisper of a familiar dream.

 _Come_ , it seemed to say,  _come see_.

He found himself moving without entirely knowing where he was going, his steps guided by that shadow in his mind.

It was the same whisper, he realized with a shock, that had once drawn him from his bedchamber in the dark of night so,  _so many_  years ago.

The whisper of a spy, then a lover, now a friend.

_Come Azriel, come find me._

Azriel’s heart hammered in his chest. It wasn’t possible that it was her, yet his footsteps still picked up speed. He was pulled towards the eastern end of Velaris, to a new section of wall that spanned the gap between two mountain cliffs.

_Are you here? Are you watching?_

It was a whisper in the darkest corner of his mind, from the same exact place his shadows took root. That voice- little more than a breath of wind through a graveyard- was neither living nor dead, neither real nor imaginary. 

It was the darkness he’d wrapped around them as they made love in the House of Wind, the memory of three months of hastily shed clothing, secret liaisons, and a warm bed. It was the kinship that they’d replaced their passions with when they realized the love they felt for one another was platonic, not romantic.

It was trust, truth, and purpose.

It was a half-wraith long trapped beneath a once-sacred mountain.

Azriel felt himself slipping on the cobblestones as he broke into a run. He opened his wings and shot into the air, flying towards that cliff face. Towards  _her_. He skimmed the rooftops as the shield gently pushed him down, warning him to not try and escape. 

Azriel ignored it and listened with all his might.

Could it be nothing more than the death throws of a hope he’d long since lost? Or was she really there?

_Where are you?_

He landed heavily on the new wall that filled the gap. An outcropping from the cliff face ten yards away revealed a shallow cave that, to Cassian’s chagrin, was just  _outside_  the shield. Azriel had endured  _months_  of “Why couldn’t Rhys just put the shield UP TO THE MOUNTAIN,” before Cassian had found new things to distract him.

When constructing the new wall, Cassian had it built several feet  _inside_  the shield, on the edge of precious grazing space for cattle. He put it there so his crews could still reach the far side of the wall to make changes or repairs as necessary. Azriel dropped down into that gap between wall and shield, roughly seven yards from the cave. He felt the shield’s tether warning him to stay where he was.

_We don’t have long, are you here?_

Azriel had no way of replying, so he simply sat against the wall and waited, hardly trusting his eyes.

Darkness filled the cave, more shadows than should have been possible with the blinding winter snow.

_I feel you there. I feel your eyes._

She’d said the same thing to him that first night he’d slipped into her room. He’d whispered it each time she came to his. That old familiarity was a gift- as was the memory of how little clothing she’d always worn when those words were whispered. A memory of better times, even if that lust was long gone. Did she want him to be reminded of that easier life, or was she the one who needed reminding?

The shadows of the cave flickered as someone struck flint, then pulled back expertly when a low fire flickered to life. To the casual observer, that flame brightened the cave and nothing more. He knew better. He knew the control that went into reigning the darkness in- shadows to amplify their power into the shield,  _through_  it, to summon him.

Inside that cave were the two greatest spies he’d ever trained.

“Why must we camp so close to the water’s edge?” Cerridwen was fussing with the ties on a large bag.

Nuala, the one who pulled Azriel to that place, rolled her eyes at her sister, “Because  _I_  enjoy the sound of waves and  _I_  am older by three minutes, so  _I_  get to choose where we camp.”

Her voice was more beautiful than he remembered- like mist given form. The familiarity of it after so long made Azriel’s eyes burn. It wasn’t just that she was one of the few he’d ever taken to bed. It was that she was a friend. A friend he’d worried about almost as often as Rhysand over the last thirty years.

“Mother’s grave is still far to the north, are you  _sure_  she won’t mind us having her memorial feast here?” Cerridwen pulled a low table and jars of food from her bag.

“She froze to death. She’ll sympathize.”

It was all bullshit, meant to appease anyone or anything that may have followed them. Nuala and Cerridwen  _hated_  the ocean, they refused to even venture more than halfway down the slopes of Velaris. They wouldn’t willingly get close enough to hear the waves. If the shield around Velaris made it look like nothing more than the ocean, they had to be swallowing their very  _real_  terror. 

Their mother drowned centuries before they were born, she’d instilled a healthy fear of water into her daughters.

Of course, their mother also died a few hundred miles  _south_.

Cerridwen began passing food to her sister to lay out on the table, “It’s been so long since we were last given leave to do this for her. Our High Lord is in a generous mood.”

_Rhysand sent us._

The message beneath her words was clear. Azriel ignored the cold bite of the snow and focused on everything they were saying.

“His mood certainly has brightened somewhat in the last few years. He is remembering the joys of past slaughters, and looking forward to more. The memories whisper to his heart at night and give him happy dreams.” Cerridwen said.

_Rhysand remembers you all. He hasn’t lost hope. He hears you._

The lantern worked.

“I think he is also pleased to hear that the Lord of Spring is giving up his insubordination to Queen Amarantha. In nineteen years their wager ends and Spring will finally fall.” Nuala reminded her. It was information Azriel didn’t care about, but a natural response to what her sister had said.

 _Spring hasn’t fallen. There is still a chance._ Sadly, they’d also informed him that Tamlin wasn’t dead and Amranatha had given herself an utterly meaningless title. Azriel wasn’t sure which was more annoying.

Cerridwen nodded, “It was merciful of our queen to give him a chance to see the error of his ways. Many did not have that opportunity. The lords of Dawn, Winter, and Summer  _wish_  they were so lucky.”

_Three new High Lords._

“Some of our own Illyrians were foolish enough to challenge Queen Amarantha’s sovereignty, to our Lord’s disappointment. Lord Cesper’s clan had to be largely sanitized because of it. Thankfully, his son knows our Lord’s will better than his father did- and many other Lords made better decisions immediately.” Nuala picked up a bite of meat and chewed slowly.

_Devlon is now Lord of the camp you trained in. Some clans willingly sided with Amarantha._

Nuala swallowed after a moment and continued, “The High Lord will remember who to punish when the time comes. Those from camps like Devlon’s will be dealt with.”

_If he finds a way to defeat Amarantha, Rhys will kill the Camp Lords who betrayed Night. Loyalists like Devlon’s people will be rewarded._

Azriel hoped he was included in that slaughter. It’d be a nice way to vent some frustrations.

Cerridwen sighed, “Do you remember Azazel, Ian, Morris, and… Ren?” she floundered on finding a code for the last name.

_Azriel, Cassian, Morrigan, Amren._

“The bastard grunts in Lord Pick’s camp?”

Nuala’s little wince at the false name told Azriel this part of their little ‘conversation’ was directly from Rhysand.

_Lord Pick… Lord Prick._

“If you could call that an Illyrian camp. It was so pathetically tiny, no one ever acknowledged their existence.” Cerridwen’s reply was for the benefit of unwelcome ears- it was an Illyrian Camp and Lord whose existence no one could verify.

“I’m disappointed he rose against the Queen in those first days, and pleased he was struck down… But I’ve never known a Camp Lord to love his people so greatly, even those four dregs. They were like kin to him.”

_Rhys loves you all. You’re his family._

“Lord Pick betrayed that love when he rebelled, even if he falsely thought it was what the High Lord wished. He should have known his duty to  _them_ , to keep them safe.” Nuala huffed.

_Rhys knows he betrayed you, he feels awful, but he did it to keep you safe._

“He can tell that to their ghosts,” Cerridwen picked at some cold potatoes, “maybe their spirits will forgive him for being such an idiot.”

_Please forgive him._

“If they knew how he-“ Nuala screeched as Cerridwen’s hand bumped a tin, sending fruit and syrup into her sister’s lap.

Cerridwen’s voice was a shade harder, “Maybe we should just let Lord Pick fade into oblivion where he belongs. Our High Lord hates traitors and wouldn’t like to hear you speaking of one.”

This time the message wasn’t for Azriel,  _Rhysand doesn’t want them to know what happened._

His stomach churned.

Nuala glared at her sister as she flung the fruit aside and wiped at her dress, “All of Prythian deserves to know how he faired after the uprising. All of Prythian  _does_  know.”

_They deserve to know. They’ll find out eventually._

“Good, then if all of Prythian knows,  _you_  don’t have to spoil my appetite with the specifics.”

_Shut up._

Nuala was fuming, but she didn’t fight Cerridwen. Whatever she’d wanted Azriel to know, if Cerridwen didn’t it was because she feared how he would handle the information, trapped as he was.

For spies, they had a tendency to mother him and it pissed Azriel off to no end.

“I will drop the subject then.” Nuala forced a smile, “Our High Lord and his happiness mean the world to me.”

“And you wouldn’t want to piss him off.” Cerridwen matched that strained smile.

_Shut up, or Rhys will be angry._

Cerridwen forced herself to relax, “Speaking of Azazel, Ian, Morris, and Ren- assuming they were only following the traitor’s orders by force, I miss them.” It was an awkward redirect, but she was trying to get back to Rhysand’s message.

“Azazel was a good male, he would never have betrayed our High Lord willingly. I hope in the afterlife, he and the others are at peace, not fretting over Lord Pick’s sins. I hope their spirits are resting well for all eternity.” Nuala said with a bit of an angry bite still.

_You’re a good male, and Rhys trusts you won’t break the shields. He hopes you all are well, and wants you to stay put as long as those shields hold._

“Our High Lord knows dregs have no say in what their lord does. If he deigned to think on such lowly fae, he would not fault them for their master’s crimes. He is not going to pardon them, but their executions are always the swiftest. They never make much of a show for the Queen’s enjoyment.”

 _Amrantha has made Rhysand her executioner. All he can do is make it quick._  Azriel’s stomach dropped.

Nuala threw her hands in the air, “If you can talk about executions, why can’t I talk about what happened to Lord Pick?!”

_If you can tell Azriel that, why can’t I say what I want?!_

“It’s completely different and you know it.”

Cerridwen’s information was easier for him to handle than Nuala’s would have been. 

That scared Azriel more than anything.

Nuala just growled, “ _Fine_.”

“You’ve been Under the Mountain too long, we all have.”

“We lived underground before.” Nuala snapped. If any reported back to Amarantha what the twins were saying, she would only know the Hewn City as their home.

“Not like this though. Besides, we were all in the palace on top. That counts as outside.”

_She’s keeping us locked underground. All of us._

“Do you remember those bright golden sunrises we used to see? I think our High Lord really loved them.” Nuala acquiesced to the look in Cerridwen’s eyes. She was usually the more cautious twin. For her to be the one fighting against Cerridwen’s rigidity, there had to be something big Rhysand had ordered kept secret.

“He  _does_  love a nice  _gold_  and  _ruby_  sunrise. He once said they could make him smile after the hardest of nights. Always bright and undiminished by even the clouds.” Cerridwen said.

_He misses Mor. He misses her ability to cheer everyone up. He hopes she still remembers to smile, he hopes she’s the same as she was back then._

Nuala shook her head, “No, he loves the darkness and shadows most, more room for mischief. Only in the blackest of souls does the true greatness lie in the Court of Nightmares, the darkest heart with the most terrifying smile.”

_He misses you too, hopes you are staying strong, and have found happiness._

“Or does he love bloodshed more?” Nuala wondered, “He would always laugh so brightly at the pain of his enemies.”

_He hopes Cassian is alright, and not too angry._

Cerridwen sighed, “The silver of moonlight, both terrifying and beautiful. He’d probably love to show Queen Amarantha the moon rise over the Night Court.”

_He wants to sic Amren on Amarantha._

“I think it’s his favorite fantasy,” Nuala agreed. “Absolutely, without a doubt.”

_He really_ _wants to sic Amren on Amarantha. Badly._

Hadn’t Amren been outlining those same fantasies to the lantern lately?

“He must have dreamed of it again, he was in such a good mood when he gave us leave to honor our mother this solstice. He even rewarded our hard work with this.” Nuala pulled a massive bottle of wine from her bag.

It was enough for six people to get comfortably drunk on _at least_.

“You know… kind as the High Lord’s gift was, I think we should give it to mother and the honorable dead.” Cerridwen said, “Azazel, Ian, Morris, and Ren- I think mother would agree to share.”

“You’re right,” Nuala smiled, “they would love it. Especially today. A gift from us to them.”

There was no code in those words.

The twins stood and carried the bottle to what they saw as the edge of the ocean. It was six feet in front of Azriel- and a couple to his left. Their shaking had little to do with the cold. If they stepped in the water, would they end up in the bay on the far side of the city?

“We miss you, we love you, and we can only do our best to make you proud.” Nuala said.

“Bless this Court, and may it be the crown jewel of Prythian for years to come. Our hearts are with you always, as we know your hearts are with us.”

Nuala rolled the bottle into the ‘ocean’. Azriel reached over and picked it up when it passed through the shield- no doubt guided by whatever magic Rhys still possessed.

There was a rumble to the far left and-

Azriel’s shout as he scrambled to his feet was evidently contained by the shield.

As was Azriel, when he tried to dive for the male.

“I told you that you could have a  _quick_  solstice meal with your mother.” Rhysand purred. He was wearing the cruel, dark mask of the Lord of Nightmares. His skin was far too pale, and his wings were nowhere to be seen. If he hadn’t spent nearly all of the last five hundred years by Rhysand’s side, Azriel wouldn’t have noticed the strain in every fiber of his being. 

Rage and grief were eating him alive.

Azriel didn’t bother looking at Amarantha’s Attor at his side- or the creature that crawled from the woods. Nuala and Cerridwen had been right to fear watchful eyes.

“They were gossiping like-“

Rhys flicked his wrist and the creature’s neck snapped. “Did I ask?” Rhysand didn’t even spare a glance to the corpse, “If you two are so keen to waste time, perhaps you’ll enjoy a night or two in the dungeons with the _rest_  of the vermin.” He jerked his chin to the Attor.

Nuala and Cerridwen were masterfully fearful as they went to it’s clutches, abandoning their little camp and the fire.

“Rhys,” Azriel heard himself whimper. He felt himself fighting the shield to go to his brother, but truth be told Azriel knew very little beyond the pain in his heart, “Rhysand!”

“Take them to separate cells, on second thought. I don’t want each to know what’s making the other scream so horribly.” It was an utterly empty promise of violence. Even if Amarantha ordered it he would never hurt the twins, but Nuala and Cerridwen did their part to look terrified.

As if a dark cell could contain a wraith.

“A bottle of wine wasted on the dead.” Rhysand spat and cast a cursory glance across the ‘ocean’.

When Rhys’s eyes met Azriel’s, for a second the bored sweep of his gaze cracked, his eyes softened, and the High Lord loosed a breath. Pure longing and grief lit his face, a pain so overwhelmingly profound that Azriel knew Rhys wouldn’t be able to maintain his composure in front of Amarantha’s minion. Not if he spoke.

Rhysand pulled out a black square of silk and wiped snow from the lapel of his jacket before dropping it on the ground. A whisper of wind moving in a strange direction caught it and set it beside Azriel.

The Attor turned and vanished with the wraiths in tow.

He knew he had only a moment. Azriel couldn’t let Rhys go without saying  _something_.

_Protect Velaris. Protect each other. I love you all. I’m sorry, I’m so sor-_

“Velaris is protected. Everyone is alright,” Azriel echoed Rhys’ last words to them. His voice broke, but he pushed on, “We love you. We forgive you.”

Rhys vanished mere seconds after the Attor, but before he did Azriel heard a barely contained whimper.

When he could breathe again, Azriel looked down at the silk at his feet and the silver note written on the fabric.

‘HAPPY SOLSTICE- THE PRICK’

* * *

—

“How is  _Cassian_  of all males the one who is on time today?!” Mor rolled her eyes when Azriel finally entered the dining room of the townhouse hours later and well after sunset.

It took a while for him to compose himself.

“Yeah, how am  _I_  the one who-“ Cassian came in from the kitchen with an apron on. Att he sight of Azriel’s red-rimmed eyes, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Amren was closest to him. Azriel went to her and pulled her up into a vicously tight hug. When he moved on to embrace Mor, he handed the furious little female the silk square. The bottle he didn’t let go of, even when he released Mor and went to Cassian.

“You drunk, buddy?” Cassian eyed the bottle, “Wow, you’re  _really really_ drunk. You’re me twenty-six years ago drunk.”

“It’s not open, idiot.” Mor rolled her eyes and put a hand on Azriel’s shoulder as he released his friend, “Az, what’s wr-“

The scent finally hit her, hit  _them_ , from the silk in Amren’s hand. The little female was staring at it unblinking, her mouth slack. It was a scent that had long since faded from the townhouse.

“Rhys?” Mor whispered, just as Azriel had. She took the square from Amren and read it,  _smelled_  it, before letting out a sob. She held the silk out to Cassian.

He just stared at it, dumbfounded.

“Tell me  _everything_ ,” Amren whispered.

So he did.

The only thing Azriel kept to himself was the hint of whatever Nuala had wanted him to know. Whatever Rhys and Cerridwen were so desperate to keep secret. They picked every word to death, vowed to  _canonize_  the twins- maybe even declare them minor gods- and made no secret of their jealousy that it was Azriel who’d seen Rhys after so incredibly long.

The black lantern flickered with red lightning as Azriel filled the Inner Circle in, as though a piece of Rhysand had healed at seeing even the walls of Velaris- let alone one of his long lost friends. Thirty years of whatever hell Amarantha made him endure and he’d had a few seconds to reassure himself that it was all still there.

A few seconds to remember what he was protecting.

Amren picked at the silk, then the wine bottle (which was, sadly or otherwise, just a very large wine bottle). There were no new, fresh hairs from Rhysand to try and salvage their spell with. The lantern was dying- and soon. The pulses of the Cauldron’s might were far more frequent as it broke down, but the Inner Circle refused to speak of anything dark or depressing. 

Not if it was the last time Rhysand would be able to sense them.

They ate when dinner was ready, but the conversation never stopped. Even Amren told some bawdy jokes that both horrified and entertained. Each of them shared their favorite stories about Rhys, or most embarrassing. He probably couldn’t hear them per-se, but if it gave him a glimmer of light for one more second, they’d do whatever it took to make sure every minute that lantern was active was filled with love and warmth for both him and those two half-wraith  _geniuses_.

Even if finally speaking of him so much, so fondly, made their hearts raw, it eased a burden in Azriel he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying. His chest was tight, but his heart beat a little easier.

“Alright, I’ve got a good one,” it was  _exactly_  the middle of the longest night of the year when Cassian poured himself a fresh glass of the wine Rhys sent, “he swore he’d kill me if I ever told any of you-“

The only warning was a  _sense_  of something rippling through the very fabric of the Night Court. By the time they were on their feet, the roar of  _hundreds_  of mountain avalanches filled the air.

Half a heartbeat later, a shudder wracked through the city. It was as if the whole of the Night Court was shivering.

Of all things, Cassian used his magic to protect the wine while the entirety of Velaris gave a violent heave (thankfully, they’d learn later, none of the underground caverns were damaged). The shield around the city seemed to go suddenly taut, brittle as grass, and they  _felt_ something cracking through it.

The lantern flashed a blinding white that made all cover their eyes.

Within seconds the shudder moved on. As the shaking in the ground faded, the lantern’s glow dimmed.

“What the hell was that?” Mor looked to Amren. They all did, “Rhys isn’t-“

“No, he’s not dead.” Amren was staring at the tablecloth intently, trying to feel the path of the raw magic that crackled in the air. It was an itch on the back of her senses- one even Rhysand likely wouldn’t have been able to trace, if he knew of it at all, “It came  _for_  the lantern.”

“That wasn’t a spell breaking. What does it feel like- don’t think, just answer.” Cassian was immediately in commander-mode, assessing.

“The birth of a future High Lord.”

Mor gaped at her, “Rhys has- he has a  _son_?!” she looked to Azriel as if he should know.

“No,” Amren frowned, “that’s what makes no sense.” She looked up at the others, “I’ve been here for the birth of six High Lords, including Rhysand’s. This feels like… Like an  _echo_ … Or a ripple of something that’s coming.”

“Amren?” Azriel alone had glanced to the lantern, “ _Look._ ”

Everyone followed his gaze.

The rumbling darkness that was Rhysand still only filled half the glass, but now a vivid, radiant red sat above it like oil over water. Mor touched the red to try and get a sense of it. She hissed at the sheer raw  _life_  that crackled there. The spell linking it to the lantern was brand new, it would take over a decade to strengthen, but she already felt the wildly happy soul- a distinctly _human_ one- on the other end of that connection.

Rhysand’s darkness beneath it seemed to be wholly unaware anything had changed.

“That’s tied to Rhys’ life, his  _fate_ -“ Azriel swallowed hard, “-couldn’t that mean-“

“The spell wasn’t breaking down, it was  _splitting_. For nine months, it’s been changing… Not the birth of a High Lord at all- not the kind this world has ever seen.” Amren actually ran a hand through her hair and loosed a nervous laugh, “Trust Rhysand to tell tradition to go fuck itself… Not a High Lord at all- but a mate with the power of one.”

“Rhys has a  _mate_?” Mor whispered, “A  _mortal_  one?”

Azriel’s mind immediately whirled with the possibility. If the Cauldron made Rhys’ mate mortal, then fate would absolutely shove her towards him however it could. A mortal mate- did it mean there was a chance Rhysand would see Amarantha dead? Did it mean it would happen sooner rather than later? A war brought Drakon and Miryam together and ended with her immortality- could a repeat of that be on the horizon? They’d known war was coming the second Amarantha returned to Prythian- did this mean it was finally going to arrive?

Cassian’s mind was on other ‘pressing’ matters, “Is she hot?” he looked at the vibrant red swirling in the lantern, “If so, does she have a sister?”

“CASSIAN!” Mor snapped, “She’s a  _baby_!”

He leaned back with a pensive nod, “You’re right… we’ll revisit those questions again in eighteen years.” The sarcasm and snark was his way of processing the shock of what was happening, but Mor still punched him in the arm.

Azriel just shook his head, “What- what does it mean?”

Amren was at a loss as well- it was the first time he’d ever seen her like this, “It means Prythian is about to get  _very_  interesting.” She swallowed hard and reached for her glass of wine, “It also means this is the calm before one hell of a storm.”

When she finished her glass, the others still looked like they were trapped between pissing themselves, crying, and leaping up and down with joy. They didn’t know how to process it-  _any_  of it. Rhys’ surprise visit, then the  _Cauldron’s_  surprise-

Amren put it in more basic terms for them:

“ _Hope_. It means  _hope_.”


	4. Part 4: 49 Years, 1 Week, 6 Days Trapped

##  **Velaris (Part 4): 49 Years, 1 week, 6 days Trapped**

“RHYSAND IS BACK!!!” Cassian’s roar echoed across Velaris- helped along by a bit of magic.

Within just a few seconds, the city exploded.

Banners unfurled from their hiding places, wooden facades fell away revealing  _amethyst_  streamers up and down the main street in front of the townhouse, confetti blasted into the air, and every single outdoor musician stopped what they were doing to join together into the official Night Court anthem. A few minutes passed and the echo of music throughout the city grew louder still as the orchestras from across the Sidra took to the rooftop of their theater to join in the celebration.

Cassian timed it all.

“Better!” he called out, his voice still amplified, “The response time is getting better! Re-set, my crews will be collecting and redistributing the confetti, and we’ll do this again month after next. Hopefully we can shave off a few more seconds. Street musicians- if at all possible, coordinate who is where amongst yourselves. Most of you are on the eastern side, we want an equal distribution across Velaris.”

Though he couldn’t hear them, Cassian knew there were a few grumbles in response to his announcement- more every time he ran the drill. They’d been doing these rehearsals for over a decade, since before even that fateful solstice night when Rhysand made a surprise visit. 

As the years passed, the people were less interested in humoring the Inner Circle. The first thirty were one thing- the nearly twenty after that were another.  _They_  weren’t trapped in Velaris, not in the same way the others were. The citizens of Velaris lived inside its walls their entire lives, they never left. Their life had changed very little, and they weren’t overly fond of the large-scale projects Cassian had busied himself with. They loved him, Azriel, Mor, and even Amren- but rehearsals for a party no one knew would happen was asking a  _lot_.

The growing apathy troubled Cassian. Within a decade more, he doubted even half of Velaris would agree to participate in the drills. Already he’d reduced his schedule to only two fighting classes per day, meaning he’d lost hundreds of students.

It was an odd feeling- knowing the children Rhysand had last seen in Velaris were now fully grown fae. Shasta was no longer sitting on the street corner, monitoring comings and goings. She was the premiere flutist of Velaris’ most prestigious orchestra- monitored by a professional familiar with her different way of processing the world. Some fae in Velaris who were now getting married and trying their hand at starting families had lived their entire lives in a city void of it’s most important resident. Most of Velaris still remembered Rhysand- they weren’t idiots- but that younger generation…

Cassian headed back into the townhouse as an odd chill went through him that had nothing to do with the evening shadows. Today wasn’t a day when the Inner Circle would meet up for dinner, he could afford to take a moment and spend some time with the lantern, until that cold shadow left his heart.

If Velaris stopped worrying about Rhysand- if Cassian had no one to train and no party to plan- he didn’t know what would happen. He’d be lost again, without purpose. That ache in his heart where the Illyrian call still sounded would no longer go ignored.

Another chill crept up Cassian’s spine, and he yanked open the front door as though he could leave that shadow of dread outside.

He went straight for the lantern- not that it had brought much comfort in recent years.

The light that was Rhysand’s mate was no longer the blinding, brilliant red of a new soul. That baby was nineteen years old now- a full grown woman- and her heart had learned what pain was. Eight years after the spell linked her to the lantern, something had rocked her to her core. Bit by bit, her soul had muted. When Cassian touched it, he felt a heavy pain settling over her. The pain of a child learning death for the first time.

When the child was eleven, flashes of black had rippled through her, then spread out over the years until her half of the lantern was as dark as Rhysand’s. Perhaps darker- for his still rumbled with flashes of red as the Inner Circle reminded him who he was and what he had to protect.

Her side though- hers stagnated. No ripples of light shone through her heart and when Cassian touched the lantern he felt a bone-deep hunger that went far beyond just food, and a hopelessness he knew all too well.

 _Mates are equals_ , he told himself as that child’s heart had darkened,  _this just makes them equal._

Still- it wasn’t right that one so young should already find themselves in a world without hope. He tried talking to her as he did Rhysand, offering her strength and hope, but the spell on her side was different- muted by the Wall.

It wasn’t until the summer of their forty-sixth year, the girl’s sixteenth, that something changed. Amren had been studying the lantern at dinner one night when she noticed a thin tendril bridging that gap between Rhysand’s heart and his mate’s- as though he could reach through the lantern to her. A ripple of red lightning had arced between them, giving both some much-needed light in the darkness.

Over the last three years, those tendrils had only grown as Rhysand’s soul wrapped itself around his mate’s, absorbing some of her pain and giving her flashes of precious strength. Whatever it represented between them, it seemed to work- a few months ago the lantern had flashed a brilliant white once more.

 Ever since then, her emotions came through louder and clearer than ever- not that it was much different from what they felt from Rhysand. Everything was still just  _feeling_ , never seeing, never hearing. No real way to communicate. Still, the connection was stronger.

Three weeks ago, the Inner Circle had dined at the townhouse the evening after Calanmai. Some time between the morning before- when Mor was studying the lantern- and when they arrived for the dinner, Rhysand’s half of the lantern had begun to swirl around the other. It roiled and rolled through the woman’s slowly waking soul, flickering with red despite his enduring darkness. When Cassian had touched it he just felt  _giddy_.

What the hell had happened with Rhysand on Calanmai?

Rhysand’s soul had darkened once more just eight days later. He was resigned to some horrible fate- that much was clear. His mate’s soul shone all the brighter- then abruptly went dark. When Cassian tried to check on her, the feeling was muted, as it had been before that flash of light months before. Still, he felt a longing, aching sort of pain echoing down from her.

And then three days ago- three days ago something  _bad_  happened, to both of them.

She’d been shining brightly, filled with purpose-

And then a blast of dread and fear from both her  _and_  Rhysand. A fear so strong, so all-consuming, Cassian was still reeling. It was responsible for that chill in his heart.

What it might mean though, he couldn’t begin to guess.

He had barely left the townhouse since then.

It wasn’t like when he was living there alone- he wasn’t going mad, he wasn’t drowning in his own pain- Cassian simply couldn’t leave the lantern. Not while that dread was echoing from it. Rhysand and his mate- they were terrified at the same time and in equal measure. 

Did it mean-  _could_  it mean- that whatever scared them had scared  _them_? Together?

Could she be in Prythian?

If she was, did it mean-

Cassian shut the line of thought down  _immediately_  and with as much prejudice as he’d been showing the itch of dread creeping up his spine. When he was fighting, thinking about how many enemies he had left to kill only made it harder to fight. When he trained, thinking about how much time was left before he was done only made his muscles ache more. Being trapped in Velaris- thinking about when it was going to end made every day that much harder to get through.

So, without meaning to, Cassian had simply stopped counting the days. He planned for the future, but never anything specific. The drills for Rhysand’s return were simple preparation. He didn’t question how much longer they would have to do it, just how long the people would be willing to do it.

If Rhysand’s mate was in Prythian that would be  _interesting_ , interesting and exciting if the two ever met. It didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t have to mean they might all be free soon.

Cassian closed his eyes and took a deep breath before heading into the dining room.

There was a storm brewing inside that lantern.

Rhys’ half was swirling around and across his mate’s once more, and hers was flickering and flashing not with red, but with a muted white.

Cassian had learned over the years that meant particularly  _strong_  terror.

He quickly touched the female’s half and closed his eyes. He felt  _horror_ , and threw absolutely everything he had into trying to sense the source of it. Terror, pain, rage, agony- it was a whirlwind that Cassian imagined he could  _hear_. A distant echo of screams and shouts, jeers and the overwhelming roar of some beast. It was nothing more than his imagination trying to fill in the gaps in what he was feeling, but for some reason his imagination had conjured up the distinct sound of a Middengard wyrm.

Rhysand’s shadows flashed bright enough to get Cassian’s attention. He moved his hand to the bottom of the lantern and again focused as hard as he could.

That spell was a lot older than the other, Cassian’s ears itched with the distant cries of that beast and the crowd who watched it. The monster roared again, then fell silent.

The crowd muted with it.

Cassian strained his senses as far as they would go, he tried desperately to imagine how the pieces might fit together- the sound he’d heard from half, then the other. He grabbed the top half of the lantern in one hand and kept the other on Rhys’ side. Every time he’d tried in the past, nothing had happened.

This time a dream whispered in his ear.

He was underground, at the edge of a muddy maze. There were high fae all around- and more than a few monsters. That crimson whore Amarantha sat on a throne at the edge of the pit, laughable in a gown of white as though she were some pure maiden. Cassian snarled at the sight of Tamlin beside her, the male who helped take Rhys’ mother and sister from them. 

He may not have participated in the attack itself, but he gave his father and brothers the information they needed. For that, Cassian owed him a dagger through each eye.

Rhysand was beside him, watching as something staggered towards Amarantha through the maze. His entire body radiated passive boredom, but Cassian could  _feel_  the fear rippling off him through the lantern. The figure stopped within sight of Amarantha.

She was certainly human, as Mor had gleaned in those first moments her soul flickered to life. Small, brown haired, on the thinner side, and her entire being pulsed with fear and strain. She was shaking, panting, and blood dripped down from a  _severely_  broken arm. Rhys’ eyes were locked on that arm, all he could smell was her blood as it poured from where bone had split flesh. 

That human was covered in so much mud, Cassian wasn’t entirely sure what she looked like.

“Well,” the evil bitch drawled, “I suppose anyone could have done that.”

The human’s only response was to take a few running steps and  _hurl_  a bone-spear at Amarantha. It pierced the ground just before her, splattering mud across the skirt of her white gown.

Despite the fear, despite the horror and pain and agony he felt from both the girl and Rhysand, Cassian had to laugh at the sheer  _audacity_  of that human. There was no doubt left in Cassian’s mind that she was Rhysand’s mate.

“If you don’t marry her, you stupid prick, I will.” He was  _beaming_.

“Who are you marrying?”

Cassian jumped, releasing the lantern. He turned to see the source of the voice and came nose-to-nose with Amren.

Not exactly a position he ever wanted to be in.

“WHAT THE HELL AMREN?! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, SNEAKING UP ON PEOPLE?!” Cassian scrambled away from her so fast that he slipped off his chair and fell on the floor.

Amren just gave him a bemused smile as he jumped to his feet, “I came to see if there was anything interesting going on. Please, go back to professing your love.”

“I’m not- I wasn’t-“ Cassian’s face went beet-red, “You have no right to just wander in and-“

“You saw her, didn’t you? The girl with the brown hair?” Amren ignored Cassian’s indignation, “I’ve managed a glimpse of her a few times this month as well. She’s pretty, I think Rhys would like her very much. Just remember that she’s  _his_  mate, not yours. I don’t think your friendship would survive you bedding his mate.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cassian folded his arms, heart pounding, “I was just dusting the lantern and grumbling. I wasn’t saying anything atall, as a matter of fact, and you’d  _better_  not try to tell anyone  _anything_  you  _think_  you saw or heard!”

Amren raised an eyebrow, “Which is it- were you grumbling or not saying anything?”

“I’m not- I wasn’t-“

She rolled those silver eyes, “We already did that part, remember?”

“ _What do you want?!_ ” Cassian snapped.

“We did that part too- I came to see if there was anything interesting going on.” Amren said slowly.

“WELL THERE ISN’T!”

“Alright,” Amren’s smile was perfectly innocent, “then have a good night.”

“GOOD  _FUCKING_  NIGHT!” Cassian shouted. He stormed around the little fae and out of the townhouse.

Amren chuckled and touched the lantern with a single finger, “Rhysand? If you can hear me, your friends are idiots.”

A rumble was the only answer she received.

\-------

* * *

 

##  **49 Years, 2 Months, 1 Week, 6 Days Trapped**

It started in the middle of the night.

Mor was in bed, arms wrapped around a beautiful caramel-skinned female she’d met at Rita’s that evening, when their fun was interrupted by a vicious quake that ripped through Velaris and beyond. The walls began to shake, a shelf in the living room toppled, and several glass trinkets shattered.

She threw up a shield around her and her companion as the shaking grew stronger and chunks of plaster began to shake loose from the ceiling above them. Mor’s heart wrenched when she heard a startled scream from the street outside- then others as children were woken by the violent quake.

It was nothing like that solstice when Rhys’ mate came into the world. This was something stronger, more definitive. It was the same  _exact_  thing she’d felt when Rhysand’s father died and he became High Lord of Night.

Mor covered her mouth and clung to the female (who’s name she’d either forgotten or never learned) as the shaking faded to tremors, the tremors to ripples, and the earth slowly settled once more. Her heart ached with fear as she pushed away from her companion and ran to her wardrobe. She couldn’t show her horror in front of this stranger. She didn’t dare.

“What was that?” the female was shaking.

“I don’t know. I need to go. Wait two minutes, then leave out the back. If anyone asks, you were helping me with something relating to farming.” Mor began to pull on her clothes quickly.

The female slid out of bed and began to retrieve her own clothes from where Mor had thrown them in their passionate haste only a half hour before, “When can I see you again?”

Mor hesitated as she pulled a navy shirt on, the fabric leaving her midriff for all to see, “I told you before we left Rita’s- this was a single night of fun, nothing else. Stress relief. You’re a good female, you seem nice, and I’m sorry this is so rushed, but I have to go right now.”

“That’s fine,” the female smiled and handed Mor her slippers. She grabbed the back of Mor’s head and pulled her in to a quick, hard kiss, “Next time you want a bit of  _stress relief_ , come find me and we’ll finish what we started. Until then don’t worry- I don’t even know you.” She winked and stepped back to dress.

Mor was in no mood- not with what she was feeling. The icy cold hooks of dread were firmly embedded in her soul, and while the shield above Velaris was still very much present, she had  _no way_  of knowing if Rhys was alive or dead.

But there might be answers at the townhouse.

And between the Rainbow and there, there were probably fae who needed answers of their own, or help.

Mor pulled on her shoes and dashed out of her apartment without another glance to the female. She banged on doors as she went down the steps to the ground floor and did not move on until the inhabitants confirmed that they were alright. 

Azriel and Cassian would undoubtedly be making their way inland from the harbor, but Mor prayed silently that they thought to check Velaris’ blacksmiths and smelting shops along the way. That earthquake could have started a fire, and a fire was approximately the  _last_  thing she wanted to deal with right now.

As she ran through the streets, Mor shouted to anyone who came out of their flats or looked out from open windows. None were seriously harmed- though a few were in need of healers after stepping on broken glass in the dark.

Lights were coming on throughout the city, confused chatter and worried cries were everywhere. Mor had to stop on nearly every street to heal one injury or another caused by things falling inside homes. Most of them were splinters or cuts, though there were a fair number of people with bruises or worse from where various heavy things had fallen from the walls and shelves.

_He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead._

She chanted it as she hurriedly healed Velaris’ citizens and rushed to the Townhouse. Every thundering heartbeat, every ragged gasp for air, Mor chanted that single sentence over and over again. She wouldn’t  _stop_  chanting it, not until she knew.

_He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dea-_

Something barreled into her from behind and Mor was yanked up off the ground. She felt strong arms around her chest and grabbed hold of the red siphons that glittered there as Cassian angled up and shot for the townhouse. The shield shoved at them both, but he fought it for a little altitude- if it got him there even a second faster it was worth that noose squeezing at his throat.

“He’s not dead,” Cassian growled as his wings strained and he shot them towards that house, “ _he’s not dead_.” 

He was repeating it with the same desperation as Mor.

A silver figure streaking through the streets below was undoubtedly Amren, running for the townhouse as well. She was only a few hundred feet behind them as Cassian came in for a hard landing.

Mor’s feet were moving before they properly touched down.

The crowds filling the streets moved out of their way as the Inner Circle converged on that townhouse. Azriel indeed came from the direction of the forges, landing just behind Amren. Mor vaulted over the gate and up the steps to the front door, ripping it open with Cassian a mere step behind her.

Dark, it was dark and quiet.

She crashed into the archway that led into the dining room and threw a wave of magic to light the faelights inside. Mor used her impact with the doorway to turn herself. The lantern would tell her he was alright. It would confirm that the earthquake was some natural occurrence, not a sign of anything bad.

_He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not-_

The lantern wasn’t on the table.

It was on the floor-

-and it had shattered.

Cassian ran from the room to the kitchen, where he promptly threw up.

“No, no, no, no, no-“ Mor dove for the shards of broken glass. The rug beneath them was damp where whatever concoction Amren had used to cast the spell in the first place had sprayed out, “NO!”

“Mor, it’s gone.” Azriel, always the realist, whispered as he pulled her back, “I’m sorry.”

“NO!” she fought against him, “It’s our only chance at-  _it’s not gone_! It can’t be gone!”

“A High Lord has come into his power,” Amren was breathless, but her voice was gentle, “that was no echo, Morrigan… I’m sorry.”

“HE’S NOT DEAD!” she shoved Azriel back and slammed her hands into the wet spot on the rug, utterly indifferent to the vicious pain when broken glass slashed her skin. She threw everything she had into that damp puddle, hoping for even a  _whisper_  of the spell that had linked them to Rhysand for thirty years.

There was nothing but darkness and cold.

And it had nothing to do with magic.

The spell was well and truly gone.

“HE’S NOT DEAD!” she screamed again and slammed her hand into the glass and liquid, but this time tears were pouring down her face, “ _HE’S NOT DEAD!_ ”

“We don’t know anything for sure,” Azriel put a hand on her back. He didn’t look at Amren- he knew her face would tell him otherwise, “he could be fine.  _We don’t know_. We survived nineteen years without anything, remember? We can be patient again. He’ll know something happened, he’ll find a way to get word to us- or Nuala and Cerridwen will. I’m sure they won’t leave us wondering.”

Cassian stumbled back. He was white and shaking. When he first saw the lantern shattered- that wave of dread had slammed into him so hard he could barely stand.

Amren waved her hand and the glass vanished. Mor’s own hands were healed, but Amren said nothing. She simply walked out of the dining room and went to the sitting room.

 _What is this?_  Amren put a hand over her chest, where she felt a shaking kind of strain,  _What is happening to me?_

She’d lived far,  _far_  too long to be a stranger to loss, but this feeling- this  _devastation_ \- was something wholly unfamiliar. She was eons old, ancient by even the standards of her own kind, and yet it felt like someone had run her through with a dagger of ice.

When did she start caring  _so much_  about the snarky little High Lord?

Cassian shook his head and a vicious, lethal rage settled over him, “No. I’m not doing this anymore. Not for another  _Cauldron-damned_  day!” He stormed out into the hall where he could  _just_  see Amren’s back to one side as well as Azriel and Mor on the other, “We don’t need a fucking  _lamp_  to know if Rhys is dead or alive. We have everything we need right here.”

“Cassian,  _no_. Now isn’t the time.” Azriel snapped. He held Mor as she shuddered with sobs.

“Now is  _exactly_  the time!” Cassian shouted, “All we have to do is  _agree to break the shield_  and it’s gone! We let that asshole lock us in here for  _forty-nine years_! I’m fucking DONE! He could be out there right now, injured or worse, and we’re supposed to play house-sitter?! NO, AZRIEL! THIS IS THE  _BEST_  TIME FOR THIS CONVERSATION! FUCK,  _FORTY-NINE YEARS AGO_  WAS THE TIME FOR IT!” His voice went quiet, cold, “I’m done playing Rhysand’s game. I want the shield  _down_. I say we break it.”

“NO!” Azriel turned on him, “PROTECT VELARIS- THAT IS THE MISSION RHYSAND GAVE US!”

“ _FUCK. RHYSAND_.” Cassian roared, “IF DISOBEYING HIM MEANS SAVING HIS STUPID ASS, THEN I’M GOING TO DO IT AND HIS ‘MISSION’ BE DAMNED!”

“CASSIAN-“

“Yes.” Mor’s whisper was enough to cut Azriel off. He turned to her, aghast. Tears strained her cheeks, her eyes were red-rimmed. Her voice was pained,  filled with forty-nine years worth of agony, “Cassian is right. We need to know.” She looked at both males before she said, “I agree to break the shield.”

Azriel could  _feel_  the shield shiver at her words, “Amren, I need you to help me here,” he said. “Tell them-“

“I agree to break the shield.” Amren said quietly, “I’m sick, I am  _so sick_ , of being caged.” When she turned her eyes were filled with the same molten wrath as Cassian.

The shield cracked.

“ _No_.” Azriel hissed. Everything in him wanted to join them, he could  _feel_  himself standing at the threshold. It would be so easy to say those words and shatter their prison-

-but Azriel didn’t endure forty-nine years to stop now. Not before they knew for sure Rhysand was gone.

“What did you say?” Cassian’s eyes darkened.

“I said no, Cass.” Azriel readied for a fight, “The last thing Rhysand said to me- to any of us- was that he wanted us to protect this city. He wanted us to protect  _each other_.”

“WE’RE TRYING TO PROTECT HIM!” Cassian roared.

“AND I’M TRYING TO HONOR HIM! TO HONOR HIS WISHES!” Azriel crossed his arms and adjusted his stance, ready to fight Cassian  _and_  Mor if it came down to it. His voice went low, “I’m going out into that city right now to heal people and help clean up the damage. I’m not breaking the shield, and without my agreement it doesn’t happen. Kick my ass-  _kill me_  if you think it will help- but I will  _never_  agree to break the shield. Not until I know for sure Rhysand is dead.”

“And what if I tell you to break the shield?” Amren came back into the dining room. She was pure predator, and everything in Azriel’s body and soul screamed at him to flee  _now_ , “I  _could_  force you, I could break you in ways you have never even dreamed of little boy.”

“ _Listen to yourselves!_ ” Azriel hissed, “ _Look at what you’re doing right now!_ ”

Cassian’s hand was on the hilt of his sword.

Mor’s fists were balled up at her sides, and her magic was at the ready.

Amren’s eyes were glowing.

“ _We don’t know he’s dead._ ” Azriel hissed, “We don’t know  _anything_. It’s been  _minutes_! Already you’re willing to rip me apart to get out?”

“It hasn’t been ‘minutes’, it’s been  _years_.” Cassian hissed.

“So what’s another few days?” Azriel shoved past him and Mor- deliberately turning his back on them. Their grief was twisting their minds, but even though he trusted them completely, something in Azriel waited for the slice of a sword through his wings, a ball of magic to slam into his back, or whatever the hell Amren did when she was pissed.

Nothing came.

He felt their glares, he felt the  _wrath_  pouring from them, but Azriel kept walking. He didn’t answer the questioning concern in the eyes of the people on the street as he passed. He simply took off into the sky and flew to the poorer areas of Velaris, where buildings were likely more damaged.

He was shaking with rage and grief, but Azriel did as he said he would. He went door to door, asking any who dared answer if they were alright and if there was anything they needed repaired or cleaned up.

It was hours before anyone else came looking for him.

* * *

 

\-----

Cassian had raged, screamed, cursed Azriel up and down as he hadn’t done in  _centuries_ -

-but anger couldn’t last forever. Not against family.

When it broke, when cold grief pooled in his stomach without anything to set it burning, Cassian hung his head, gave Mor a tight hug, a chaste kiss on the forehead, and even squeezed Amren’s shoulder before going out into the city to find his brother and apologize.

He still felt that he was right- the shield  _needed_  to come down- but when he thought of his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, a wave of guilt threatened to carry him away.

Azriel was the strong one of them all. He had been the one who carried them throughout the last forty-nine years. He was the one who brought them together in that café, he was the one who  _dared_  tell Amren it was time to start acting like Rhys’ second. He’d helped give them all purpose, and asked nothing from them in return.

And Cassian had very nearly drawn his sword against him.

The residents of Velaris largely avoided Cassian’s eyes, not wanting to know if the grief in them was for whatever had happened to their High Lord, or for the row the fae outside the townhouse had overheard. Already gossip was flowing through the city, even as the residents sorted through the minor damage to their homes.

When Cassian crossed the Sidra (where Mor’s floating crops hadn’t been disturbed in the slightest), a few fae here and there simply pointed towards the lower edges of the city. Wordless, they directed Cassian to where Azriel knelt in the street and healed a little girl’s twisted ankle.

“I’m sorry.” Cassian said when he sent the girl skipping on her way.

“I don’t  _want_  to know.” Azriel whispered, “As long as I don’t know, he’s still alive.”

“As long as  _I_ don’t know, he’s still dead.” Cassian said, “It isn’t an excuse for my behavior, but that’s what I feel.”

“I won’t agree to break the shield.” Weary, Azriel crossed his arms.

Cassian just nodded, “I still want to… but I won’t force you. You want to wait for word? Fine. But eventually we need to face whatever is out there. I’m ready, but I get that you’re not.”

It was an impasse, and Azriel knew that Mor would probably hate him for it. Still… he  _didn’t want to know_. He wasn’t ready to face Rhys’ death. Not after everything they’d been through. Not after Rhysand’s  _mate_  had finally walked the earth. Despite his best efforts, he’d started to hope.

“Don’t expect me to get sappy.” A female huffed, “But I shouldn’t have said I would break you. Even though I  _could_  and it would be  _easy_ if I felt like it... Which I don’t... Right now.”

Amren was scowling at him, but there was more spite in her eyes than that wrath she’d fired at him earlier. It was the closest he’d ever get to an apology.

“Amren, I-“

The words were stolen from Azriel along with the very air in his lungs.

Something slammed into him- a wave of pressure and magic and sheer  _might_  that winded him- winded all three of them. The tidal wave passed through them-

-taking the tether with it.

The shield around Velaris shattered.

Azriel’s knees buckled, but he didn’t slump to the ground.

None of them did.

Amren practically  _pounced_  on Cassian, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as both Illyrians launched into the air and, for the second time in less than twelve hours, sped for the townhouse. Habit kept Azriel low, skimming just above the rooftops of the city, but there was no pressure pushing them down, no noose tightening around their throats.

The shield was well and truly gone.

The only reason Azriel didn’t winnow there was Cassian and Amren. He wouldn’t leave them behind.

Even halfway across Velaris though, they  _felt_  a shuddering explosion from the townhouse and heard the echo of it racing down the slope of the city.

Mor’s wordless scream came a second later as she beheld whatever came with that explosion of sound and pressure. At whatever was unleashed upon the townhouse.

 _Rhysand is dead,_  Azriel thought,  _he’s dead, and his body just came home._

Why did the thought bring him comfort and grief in equal measure?

Azriel knew the answer- because even if he was dead, at least then they had an answer. At least then forty-nine years of fear and worry were over.

 _If Rhysand is dead though, who just became High Lord_? Azriel’s heart faltered and he nearly crashed into a chimney as a new, blinding dread washed over him.

 _Kier_.

Azriel crashed to the ground just behind Cassian and Amren. Again, faeries stood on the street, staring in fear at that townhouse. Again, they parted for the three who hurtled themselves to the front door.

Cassian got there first. He ripped it open and stopped dead at the threshold.

Mor was holding Rhys’ body, a mix of grief and love and concern in her eyes as she knelt on the floor of the townhouse foyer where she’d fallen.

Except-

-except Rhys’ body wasn’t laying limp in her arms.

It was kneeling in front of her, and holding her upright as she held him. As she cried with overwhelming joy.

Cassian held his breath and slammed his hand into the doorframe, blocking both Amren and Azriel. They looked over his shoulder, then froze as well.

Rhys looked as though he had been saying something to Mor, but he turned slowly to look at Cassian, Azriel, and Amren. 

He’d knocked the wind out of them. 

They’d returned the favor. 

A smile slowly replaced the agony and wonder on his face as he looked at them  _openly_  for the first time in forty-nine years.

“Ca-“

“Never again.” Cassian cut him off. There was no rage in his voice, no anger, not even mild disapproval. There was  _nothing_  there. No emotion whatsoever, “You never pull this shit again- is it a deal?”

“Cassian-“

“Never again. No matter what.  _Is it a deal?_ ”

Rhysand swallowed hard and nodded, “It’s a deal.”

Cassian used the door, his wings, everything at his disposal to launch himself at Rhysand full-force. Mor barely got out of the way as he crashed into his brother, tackling him across the floor, “YOU CAULDRON-DAMNED PRICK!” Cassian roared. He wrenched Rhys around, pulled him to his feet, and secured him in a head-lock, ”DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED WE’VE BEEN?!”

Azriel barreled into the two before Rhys could answer and shoved Cassian’s arms just far enough out of the way to pull his High Lord and best friend into a tight hug, “We thought you were dead!”

Rhysand wasn’t sure if he was being attacked or welcomed home, “Amarantha died last night. I got my power back.” He swallowed hard, “I kept the shield up because I knew you’d all come and I didn’t want to do this in front of-“

“I DON’T CARE!” Cassian bellowed. He released Rhys’ head, spun him, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, “IF YOU  _EVER_  GO  _ANYWHERE_  WITHOUT US  _AGAIN_ , I’M GOING TO KILL YOU MYSELF!”

Azriel grabbed Rhys the second Cassian let him go, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Az. I’m fine.“ The lie in those words wasn’t even contained  _well_ , but Azriel let it go. 

For now.

“I don’t appreciate being put in a kennel like some beast.” Amren snapped when Azriel and Cassian released Rhysand.

He offered a tentative smile, “I’m sorry?”

She huffed, “You’ll be making it up to me for  _centuries_.” Amren shrugged, “I favor pearls now, just so you know.”

Rhysand actually managed a laugh, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mor put a hand on his back and dared to smile, even though she still wasn’t sure what she was seeing-

“It’s real.” Rhysand reached back and squeezed her hand, “It’s real.”

Even though Amren made a face when Cassian, Azriel,  _and_  Mor tackled Rhysand once again, she joined in the hug.

When Nuala and Cerridwen stepped out of the shadows, she even offered the two half-wraiths a rare nod of approval. They also fell victim to the group-hug.

“OH!” Cassian shoved back from the others, “You have to come outside! There’s a party!”

Rhysand forced a smile, but there was a weariness in his eyes, “Cassian, I appreciate it, I do, but I don’t think I’m up for-“

“ _TOO FUCKING BAD._ ” there was a hint of danger in his voice as Cassian grabbed the back of Rhys’ shirt and pulled him to the door. He yanked it open and practically  _threw_  Rhysand into the streets of Velaris.

Even when he first walked those streets as High Lord of Night, the people of Velaris had never cheered so loudly.

Rhysand didn’t even try to contain his tears as the music began to play and his city- his  _home_ \- exploded in violet. 

A home he didn’t think he would ever see again. 

Friends he didn’t think he would ever see again. 

He’d stolen a glimpse of the walls that solstice so long ago, just to remind himself what he was trying to save as Amarantha took everything else from him.

_Velaris is protected. Everyone is alright. We love you. We forgive you._

Azriel’s words had broken his control for  _days_ , but they’d also saved him. He’d been repeating them over and over for the last nineteen years. He was repeating them even when Feyre was dragged into Amarantha’s throne room. He kept repeating them as he sent her the vision of the House of Wind overlooking his home- the last sliver of beauty in a dark and cruel world.

Now that it was laid out before him, welcoming him home with open arms, all Rhysand could do was hold his friends- his  _family_ \- and weep as they showed him something he hadn’t known in forty-nine long years:

 _Love_.

* * *

 

\----

##  **Epilogue: Seventeen Hours Free**

Cassian poured himself a cup of strong tea.

Rhys had long since excused himself to “spend some quality time getting reacquainted with my bed”. 

Cassian knew the feeling.

It was too much- the party, the parade, the city-wide jubilation and feasts as word spread that it was no drill- Rhysand was truly home. 

Rhys had smiled through it all- even cried openly at first- but as he walked through his City of Starlight at long,  _long_  last, Cassian saw something crumbling inside him. He’d lost so much more than they even knew, he’d suffered in ways that carved out some essential part of his soul, and by the time they returned to the townhouse for  _hours_  of drinking and toasting Rhys, Nuala, and Cerridwen’s courage, that smile had faded from Rhysand’s eyes.

It was over, Rhys was free- but he was still broken inside. Memories of horror and pain still dogged his steps, and he couldn’t convince himself it was well and truly over.

...  _Cassian knew the feeling_.

Rhys had been exhausted when he got up from the table and begged their forgiveness for leaving, but it was something else that drew out those purple bags beneath his disturbingly pale skin.

The owner of the café was too happy at the High Lord’s safe return to care that Cassian came in as he was closing up. He’d simply told Cassian anything he wanted was on the house, he could help himself. The fae just asked that he lock up on his way out whenever he chose to leave.

That was shortly after midnight.

Now it was two in the morning.

Exhaustion  _begged_  Cassian to go to sleep- but that was where he’d gotten stuck.

The House of Wind was within reach.

All of Prythian was within reach.

So why was he here, still in Velaris, at this little café?

Because something wasn’t right.

Because Rhysand returned alone.

“Mind if I join you?” Amren didn’t wait for an answer. She sat down in the chair next to Cassian and poured herself a cup. Not to drink- but she held the hot mug and breathed deep the scent of it.

Mor appeared a few minutes later. “So I’m not the only one.”

“Not by a long shot.” Cassian poured her a cup of tea, then went to refill the pot.

“We’re free. He’s home…” Mor whispered, “So why don’t I feel good?”

“Because only part of him came back.” Azriel followed her in, took the pot from Cassian, and grabbed a cup of his own, “And this is only the beginning.”

“It’s not fair,” Cassian sat down hard, “after everything, after all of this- why can’t he smile? Why can’t  _we_?” It was a child’s voice that asked the question.

Amren simply put one hand on Cassian’s and took Mor’s in the other. She gave them both a comforting squeeze, and offered Azriel a wan smile, “A piece is missing. There is something we don’t know yet… And someone has been misplaced.”

“She’s in Spring.” Azriel whispered. All eyes turned to him, “She’s high fae, she’s immortal- and she’s engaged to Tamlin.”

Cassian didn’t even have it in him to swear for once. He just closed his eyes and loosed a breath, “It isn’t enough that he helped steal Rhys’ sister and mother from us, now he takes Rhys’  _mate_?”

“Her name is Feyre.” Mor said quietly, “And now he  _knows_  she’s his mate.”

They fell into silence, equally miserable. 

She didn’t belong to Rhysand, no member of the Inner Circle would ever consider  _anyone_  to be prize or property, but- after everything- didn’t he  _deserve_  a happily ever after? Didn’t he  _deserve_  a mate and a love strong enough to shake Prythian to its core? A love to remake the world?

Azriel didn’t even have it in him to feel indignant at how simply, utterly  _unfair_  it all was. He was numb- like the last forty-nine years of telling himself he  _had_  to be strong, he  _had_  to be the rock of the Inner Circle- it finally caught up to him. Mor and Cassian had broken the first four years and slowly gathered the pieces back up. 

Azriel hadn’t  _let_  himself break-

-but somehow in the relief of seeing Rhysand again, in knowing it was  _over_ , he had snapped at long last. Azriel was wholly, utterly numb inside. Even his shadows were silent.

After forty-nine years of agony and hell, didn’t they deserve to be happy, not sitting in a dark café in the early hours of the morning? 

Didn’t they deserve to sleep easily for the first time? 

Didn’t they deserve to feel  _something_?

At dawn, Azriel flew back to the House of Wind alone while the others went to the townhouse to be there when Rhys woke. Not that the High Lord had actually slept at all that night.

Azriel knew  _she_  would be waiting in his old chambers... And he needed her as much as she needed him, a reminder of a happier time, even if those feelings were gone.

He ripped off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and shed his pants before he even went to his bedroom door. He knew she would already be waiting on the bed.

 _Something_. He needed to feel  _something_. Anything.

She needed it too. More desperately than he could ever know after what she’d been forced to witness, after she too had fought tooth and nail to hold Rhysand together through it all, and be her sister’s strength.

She was as exhausted and lost as he was.

“Just this once.” Nuala whispered as Azriel crawled onto the bed.

“Just this once.” He agreed.

* * *

 

\---

##  **Three Months, One Week, Four Days, and Eight Hours Free**

Even though he had an entire Court to wrangle back under control, even though Hybern was undoubtedly ramping up to open war and he should be spending every second with the ones he loved most, Azriel kept finding his way here.

Even though it was where he learned  _exactly_  what Cerridwen stopped Nuala from telling him nineteen years ago, what Prythian called Rhysand for his sacrifices in Amarantha’s chambers, he couldn’t bring himself to stop coming.

He had to make sure she was safe, alive, and unharmed.

Azriel stood in the shadow of the hallway as Feyre Archeron readied to walk down the aisle and marry Tamlin.

He thought he was going to be sick.

She wasn’t some prize to be won, but even so- Amarantha stole Rhysand from his people for forty-nine years. She stole his body, forced him to pretend he  _enjoyed_  it, made him torture, maim, and even kill until only those words they whispered into the lantern kept him sane.

Feyre Archeron wasn’t a prize… but didn’t Rhysand deserve a  _chance_ with her? Tamlin claiming the female- it felt like she was being taken not from Rhysand, but from all of the Inner Circle. They’d watched her grow up- even if Feyre didn’t know it. She’d saved them, given them hope in the darkest of times… And if Tamlin got his claws in her, then he stole another female from their family. 

Rhysand’s sister, his mother- now his  _mate_? Where did it finally end?

If she didn’t look more dead than alive, Azriel might have felt differently, but for three months now he’d come to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was safe. For three months he watched as she grew thinner and more pale, as Tamlin and that  _whore_  Ianthe smothered her spirit. 

Azriel wasn’t so oblivious that he didn’t recognize the signs of abuse.

Not physical- he’d give Tamlin that much- but she’d been neglected so wholly, so completely, that Azriel’s more lethal instincts told him she was broken as much as anyone he’d ever tied to his table. The darkness Azriel lived hand-in-hand with was smothering her, eating her alive from the inside out, and the worst part was how  _easy_  it would be to stop it. If that  _bastard_  Tamlin even thought to talk to her, hold her at night when she was crying and moaning in her sleep, then she would have a chance at recovery.

But the neglect had made things so much worse.

Azriel didn’t know if she could survive it.

He kept coming to check on her, to watch her and ruminate over how utterly insane the entire situation was, but it was Nuala and Cerridwen who’d  _volunteered_  to keep to the shadows whenever they could, to watch Feyre in case she tried something drastic in her grief and despair.

Now though, now Azriel was watching her ready for a marriage to a male who would never respect her, never truly love her, and never be able to protect her from her own guilt and agony.

If she did the unthinkable, Rhysand would die with her- physically or in spirit. After everything he’d done, after everything he’d suffered, the severing of even an unfulfilled mating bond-

A roaring filled Azriel’s ears and his vision went red.

That kept happening.

Helping Rhys and Cassian slaughter the treasonous Illyrians helped quiet it a bit, but every time he let himself think about Rhys’ mate with  _Tamlin_ , what it would do to her and Rhys if she faded any further- that roaring came back.

Azriel looked down at his hands, at what was clutched inside them.

Later, once the rage and grief had passed, Azriel would hurl himself across his chambers and vomit his guts up at what he was about to do.

Though he’d never admit his actions, he would spend his entire life getting Feyre anything she asked for, doing anything she asked him to do, and being the best friend he was capable of being. He would never say ‘no’ to her, never question her, never be anything less than a doting brother to her.

All because of what he was about to do in his broken rage, and all out of disgust at himself.

If Rhysand ever found out, he would probably kill Azriel.

He became darkness, and walked in the shadow of that asshat Tamlin as the male made his way down the wedding aisle. Azriel opened his hand as he followed, leaving something behind mixed with the white and pink flowers. A weakness in Feyre few knew- a weakness even Tamlin didn’t usually acknowledge- though he’d been so careful on this day.

Azriel pushed himself into the shadows of the manor house as the doors opened and Feyre stepped out.

When she saw what he’d left behind, the roaring in his ears fell silent and pure, raw horror washed over Azriel.

Red rose petals.

He’d left crimson rose petals in his wake.

 _What have I done_? Panic rose in his chest as Feyre’s face went white and slack. As her footsteps halted and he could  _see_  her silent screams in those blue eyes.

 _Oh Gods, what have I done?_   _Oh Gods_. 

She was  _traumatized_  and he’d taken advantage of her. 

Azriel was going to step out of those shadows, he hauled up the mask of the cruel and vicious spymaster. He’d give a wicked smile and come into view just long enough for her to know she was being manipulated, then Tamlin would have someone to rage at after he got off his ass and actually  _helped_  her.

Azriel took a step forward-

Thunder cracked beside him, directly behind Feyre and instead of stepping out, Azriel shrunk back. He ripped at his corporeal form until he was pure shadow- and even then he held his breath as a different kind of darkness erupted.

Feyre whirled, and when her eyes met Rhysand’s through the smoke and shadow that he let the wind carry away, Azriel saw a measure of tension easing from her, her ruined soul instinctively responding to the presence of her mate, even if she didn’t know it. Even if her heart beat faster and that naked fear shone on her face.

Feyre didn’t know Rhysand, the  _real_  Rhysand. None of those damned fae did. Only Azriel- hidden in the darkness like the coward he was- saw the agony and horror in Rhysand’s eyes as he took in how thin and pale she had become. 

Of those gathered, only Azriel could see the sheer  _relief_  on Rhysand’s face that he had found his excuse to stop that farce of a wedding.

Prythian would hear the arrogance and teasing in Rhysand’s voice when he spoke, but Azriel heard the love and concern as he was finally given leave to interrupt a union he’d been mourning since before Amarantha’s downfall.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

* * *

 

**The End.**


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